Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zoro was no stranger to discomforts, in dangerous situations he bore them with all the grace of a brick wall, but that didn't mean he liked it. But, waking up face down in the water, waves beating you-- drowning you-- while a megalithic storm rages overhead, was one of the worst ways he'd ever regained consciousness. He remained limp for three seconds, letting himself be crushed by the surf, his mind fuzzy and swimming. The thunder sounded like cannon blasts overhead, lightning sizzling and crackling against the high rocks to his right. His body rolled with the waves, limbs smacking into the sand, only a few feet from shore. Pain, confusion, and anger burning with the sea water in his lungs.

The three seconds passed, and his brain caught up with his body, drowning slowly on the shore to some no-name island in the middle of the Grand Line. He flailed, managed to get his right arm under him, but his left exploded in pain. His head broke the surface and he shouted, coughed, and forced his legs down, rolling away from the pain, and was carried farther ashore by another ten foot wave. He landed on his back this time and sat up retching. He stared around in horror, and noticed the world was dark, greenish from dying sunlight filtering through the edges of the storm clouds.

He couldn't see the Sunny. There was only a mad torrent of gray and whitecaps, seething in fury at the wind and rain to the horizon.

His heart thudded hard in his chest and he reached for his swords-- for an anchor in familiarity, but found only a single empty scabbard. “NO!”

He launched himself unsteadily to his feet, staggering as if drunken toward the sea, right hand clamped around his left bicep, just below the crater of a bullet wound.

It all came back to him in flashes piece by broken, jagged piece.

Four days ago they'd departed an island. The cook had purchased a plethora of spices, salted pork, kegs of beer and water. Nearly two hundred pounds of rice. Nami had said it would be almost two weeks to their destination and the only other islands they would come across were small uninhabited things surrounded by ship killing coral reefs and hidden sand bars. The ocean had been so shallow in some places Luffy had entertained himself by watching the ship's shadow play along the sand below.

Two days into their journey the storm had started brewing to the east. Following them, and growing in size and speed. It caught up to them in the middle of the night on the third day. Tossing the ship this way and that, even the stupid cook had been interrupted. It was too dangerous to prepare meals with hot oils and flame when the whole ship was being tossed. He'd prepared some foods before it got bad, but they didn't know how long the storm would last, as it seemed to be keeping pace with them, driving them along like a lamb to slaughter.

The cook had decided to plan at least a week's worth of meals that could be eaten without much use of the stove, or pots and pans. That was how Sanji had noticed something wasn't quite right in the store room. At first he'd blamed Luffy, as the captain was always trying to sneak food. But he'd locked the storage room, and food still went missing.

Chopper had been the one to catch the scent. There was a stowaway on the ship.

The crew spent the day searching, but the only sign of the stowaway they'd found was his scent clinging to surfaces, and the empty space in the crate of root vegetables where he'd hidden himself to get aboard.

Nobody could figure out how he was able to hide. The ship was big, but not that big. It shouldn't be possible. But, Franky confessed, the inner workings of the Sunny were complicated, and actually there were lots of small places a person could hide themselves. Ducts and service areas. The bilge compartments. And there were only nine of them on the whole ship, spreading out to search could be dangerous. They didn't know the stranger's intentions. Their best bet would be to pair off and stay in the areas where the vital ship components were... and wait.

At sundown on the fourth day, while the storm raged outside, the stranger emerged. He climbed the rigging and released the mainsail. Making them all easier targets as they rushed around trying to recapture it and tie it down before the force of the wind snapped the yard..

Robin had summoned arms in the rigging, dragging in the sail, while Franky stood near by gripping the back of her rain coat to keep her from toppling overboard as the water weakened her. It was dangerous business being a devil fruit user during a typhoon. The sea was angry and constantly splashing over the deck. Luffy had taped down his rain gear and secured the glass lid to one of Sanji's pots to the inside of his hood like a visor to give himself as much protection against the water as he could, but it restricted his ability to stretch more than one arm or leg at a time or risk too much exposure to continue the fight.

One wave, two and both Brook and Chopper were drenched and barely conscious, tucked under Franky's other arm.

Unfortunately the stowaway chose that moment to reappear, as if from thin air, swinging an empty rice sack with three cannon balls in it. It cracked against Franky's skull with enough force to dent the steel plates in his head and he landed with a thud, sliding across the deck toward the railing. Chopper and Brook tumbled helplessly and the skeleton's joints stretched, gaps between the bones as he fought not to fall apart under the onslaught of the sea. He caught the railing with one hand, Chopper's hood with the other and hauled them both toward the galley door and safety.

The stowaway was thin, starved looking. Short with bulging eyes and sharp teeth. He looked as if the wind would blow him away, but he held a deceptive strength in his compact frame. All speed and miraculous agility beneath a shock of dirty blue hair. His big eyes where wide, almost crazed, and he didn't utter a word, nor make a sound as he pinwheeled across the heaving deck, bag of cannon balls in one hand, pistol in the other.

It all happened so quickly Zoro wasn't sure who the man's target was. Just that one second Franky was down, the next Robin disappeared into a wave as it swept the deck and Luffy's arm went shooting after her.

Zoro barely had time to draw his swords-- one in each hand-- when the stranger turned.

Sanji launched himself forward with a kick, and Zoro moved in, but the attacker was faster. Lightning struck the main mast, the stowaway's gun belched fire--

The bullet punched into Zoro's left bicep with enough force that he was knocked spinning. One sword sliding across the deck. After that it was a blur. Wave after wave crashing across the slippery grass and planking, pounding the ship. He found his sword again, stabbing both blades into the deck to try and keep himself anchored, but his left arm was half numb, the other half screaming in pain.

For a few precious seconds he watched Sanji fighting with the stranger. Just silhouettes against lightning and green sunset. The whole ocean seemed to be alive, tossing and turning and trying to throw them into the depths, ship and all. Then his left hand slipped, a wave caught him and he was in free fall. Tumbling head over heels toward the sea.

Luffy screamed his name, reached for him-- and missed.

He hit the water hard, struggled to resurface-- and was thrown into the side of the ship so hard everything went black.

Now, he was here, staggering in and out of the surf trying to locate Wado Ichimonji. If he was lucky, his other swords were still stuck in the deck of the Sunny, but Wado. His mind buzzed like a nest of angry bees. All he could think about was the fact Wado was possibly lost to the sea. He didn't know, and the not knowing hurt worse than anything. He never didn't know where his swords were. Not for this long.

Zoro scanned the beach in both directions, dizzy and sick to his stomach. He tried to ignore the hot spread of blood over his hand and down his arm, and the sick feeling in his gut that he was going to die here, and instead frantically continued to search.

He waded out into the thrashing sea until it knocked him down and pushed him back to shore, then did it again, feeling for the blade like he remembered doing in Alabasta. But there was nothing. Nothing but growing darkness and the storm.

Movement to his left stole his attention as he was struggling in the waves a fifth, maybe sixth time, and hands appeared, shoving under his arms and dragging him frantically back to land.

“What are you doing! What-- Are you trying to kill yourself!”

Zoro knew that voice, that accent. He stopped struggling and let the blonde pull him to shore, then sat there gasping for breath against the cook's chest. “Did you-- did you get knocked overboard too?”

“More or less,” Sanji coughed, turned and blew salt water from one nostril then the other. “What the hell were you doing, running into the waves like that!”

He said nothing, but reached for his wound again, gripping it tightly.

“Shit--” Sanji shifted, sitting up a little more against the sand and rocks. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough.” He hissed, and pulled his bandana free, looping it lower around his bicep over the wound and tightening it with his teeth.

Sanji strugged to his feet once more and caught Zoro under the arms, dragging him farther away from the water. “Where are you swords?”

Zoro said nothing.

“Don't play dumb, where are they!”

“I don't know.” The words hurt, left an awful taste in his mouth.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Think you can walk?”

“Of course.”

Sanji pulled him up, then caught him again when he tottered and almost fell on his face.

Zoro lowered his head, tried to catch his breath and noticed something else was missing; “Where, the fuck are my boots?”

“Probably at the bottom of the sea. Come on, we need to find shelter.”

“What about the others?”

Sanji put an arm around his back and gripped a belt loop on his opposite hip, tugged to keep him close. “They were alright when I went in... still fighting that piece of shit.”

“Do you think they're okay?”

“Yeah. Robin had him in a clutch when I went in after you.”

“You went in after me?”

“It was either me or Luffy, and you know how that would have ended.”

“Was everyone else OK?”

“You know, I think you're concussed. I just finished saying everyone was OK.” Sanji pulled him around an outcropping of rock and out of the wind. “We need to climb over this, I washed up on the other side of these rocks... I think there's an abandoned settlement farther inland, there was the remains of a small pier in the cove.”

Zoro nodded, and didn't even argue when Sanji caught the back of his waistband and helped steady him as he climbed. His left arm was a burning point of agony and any attempt to move the arm at all made it worse. The last thing he needed was to be completely out of commission.

“Did you see any sign of the ship from your side?”

“No. The sea's too rough and it's too dark. If we wait until the storm dies down, then build a signal fire, they'll be able to find us once the sun is up.”

Zoro nodded, feeling slightly dizzy as they made it to the top of the outcropping. The sun was shining between the ocean and the clouds, coloring everything red, and greenish in the last few seconds before it dipped below the horizon. In those scant moments Zoro and Sanji got a quick look at the little island they'd been stranded on.

Small, wooded at the western half, with an imposing cone of stone to the east. Between the two was a cleared area, too deep in shadow to be identified as anything more than a clearing, with a spit of eroding volcanic stone and black sand where they stood, creating a hook or cape jutting out to the south. It wouldn't be hard to walk completely around the island in a few hours. But beyond it, in every direction there was nothing but ocean, and the frothy evidence of sand bars and hidden rock traps.

Even if the Sunny found them, it wouldn't be able to get close, and it would take time to navigate the Mini Merry to shore.

“Okay, our best bet is heading to high ground.” Sanji called over the sound of thunder. “I don't know how high the water will be when the storm makes landfall.”

Lightning struck the mountain, then again some trees to their left, and Sanji practically shoved Zoro forward, gripping the back of his shirt and forcing him to stay low as they scurried toward safety.

The mountain was dark, rocky and at its base were a few dilapidated structures. A small waterfall frothed down the mountain face, and Sanji paused long enough to squat and put his hand in it, sniffing, then giving the water a hesitant taste. “Its warm... fresh, doesn't taste of sulfur. Come on.” He kept a hand tangled in Zoro's shirt, pulling him along up the slope. Around them the storm continued to worsen.

The spring came out of the rock from a cave mouth. Though, calling it a cave was generous. It was barely six feet deep with a mouth they could crawl into but couldn't dream of standing up in. Sanji pushed Zoro in first, and he shuffled in on his knees, head ducked forward.

They sat in silence for a handful of minutes, shivering and staring in awe at the sea as the sun finally sank and the world faded into complete darkness.

It was warm in the cave, likely from the spring as it bubbled up through the floor and seeped through the walls. Sanji fished in his pocket for his lighter, found his cigarettes turned to mush by the fight to get to shore, so he tossed them out the mouth of the cave and into oblivion. The lighter, though, had remained closed, and hopefully, it hadn't become saturated and useless.

Two, three strikes and a flame sprang into being, bright as a miniature sun between them.

Zoro turned toward the light with a bit of relief easing the tension in his back. “How long will that thing last?”

“We're lucky, I just filled it up two days ago,” Sanji muttered, settling the lighter on the ground between them and beginning to strip out of his saturated jacket. “You're bleeding, let me see it.”

“You're one to talk. What happened to your back?”

Sanji sighed, bitter. “Got stuck on some coral for a while, that's how I lost you.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, then pulled up the back of his tanktop to show Zoro his injury. “It's just scratches and scrapes.”

“Looks like it peeled your skin off.” Zoro muttered. Though there were quite a few of them, the cuts were shallow, a glancing blow where the cook had collided with the coral surrounding the island.

“Now, can I see your arm?”

“It's fine.”

“Don't start. We're stuck here, and if we happen to be stuck here for more than a few hours you could wind up bleeding to death or worse, let me see it!”

Zoro knew he was right, he just didn't want the blonde touching him. His mind was still fixated on the empty scabbard at his hip and the fear that Wado Ichimonji was gone, His connection with Kuina was gone.

“Stubborn piece of shit, did the bullet even come out? I didn't see an exit wound.”

“It's fine--”

“It is not, you brainless clump of moss!”

“I've had worse.”

Sanji snarled. “I'm not arguing that you haven't had worse, I'm saying that you've got a bullet wound and we're stuck on an island without a doctor for gods knows how long! Do you want to end up dead?”

He did not, but what good would it do to poke and prod at it when they didn't have anything to treat it with? He was in danger, he knew that, uncertainty bubbling his stomach. “Just don't touch it. We don't have anything to clean it with but fucking salt water.”

Sanji shuffled closer and took up the lighter, holding it close enough to see as Zoro untied the cloth and peeled up the shirt sleeve. It was a neat thumb print sized hole in the front of his arm, roughly two inches above his elbow, already reddened and inflamed from the grit of sand particles and dirty sea water. The flow of blood was heavy, and constant, and made Sanji's mind race in worry.

Chopper would be beside himself.

“Do you think it hit bone?” Sanji said without meaning to.

“Yeah, feels like it.” Zoro's right hand shook as he struggled to tie the cloth back. “I can't really move my fingers.”

“Aren't you left handed?”

“Yep.”

The blonde's jaw clenched and he worried at his lower lip nervously. “I don't have much we can bandage it with.”

“It'll be fine until morning.”

“You don't know that.”

“I know we don't have a choice. That storm is only getting worse and right now we don't have the resources to do anything but sit here and wait.”

Sanji didn't like it. In fact he hated it. Not being able to do anything was tantamount to torture. So, he started emptying his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“Inventory.” He had a few Beri, a little rainbow colored seashell he'd picked up at their last stop and the small half drowned transponder snail Nami had let him borrow when he'd gone ashore to purchase their supplies days ago. The poor thing had been underfed in her care and he'd taken to letting it sit in the little bronze box with its dial and feast on bits of cabbage, or radish. He'd only just managed to get it to eat a whole slice of carrot the day before, and now it was wheezing and spitting water, eyestalks sagging as it struggled for breath.

“Isn't that Nami's snail?” Zoro peered curiously into the little tin with his nose crinkled. “You killed it.”

“It's not dead.” Just nearly dead. He shook the water out of the tin and settled the little snail on an outcropping of rock at his shoulder where it seemed dry. “She'll be alright.”

“Looks dead.” Zoro leaned against the far wall and gripped his elbow, keeping his left arm folded across his chest so it didn't jar his wound. “Drowned transponder snails are useless anyway.”

The little snail blew bubbles and coughed weakly.

“She's not drowned.” Sanji turned the dial upside down on another little outcropping and prayed it hadn't been destroyed by the water. It wasn't easy to fit a turbinate with a new dial. Especially little tower snails. Sometimes they were so distressed at being asked to pair with a new dial they refused to eat and died. “Come on, you're alright... Look, I promise I'll find the best fruit on the island and give it to you, just--” He nudged the little snail again but she retracted back into her shell with a quiet little cough.

“You can't even get a transponder snail to talk to you?” Zoro snorted, “I didn't know you could get worse with women.”

Sanji turned, retort on his tongue, but when he saw how pale the swordsman had become and the obvious chilled shivering in his shoulders, he swallowed the words down again. He sighed and shifted onto his knees, twisting his jacket to wring as much water from it as he could. “We should share body heat.”

One of Zoro's eyes cracked open and regarded him distrustfully.

“You're losing blood, the last thing you need is to slip into shock and die of hypothermia. Luffy would never forgive me.”

“I'll be fine.” Zoro pulled his knees tighter toward his chest.

“I know it's difficult, but please try to use that single brain cell you've got between all the algae in your ears... You're injured, you've lost a significant amount of blood and spent at hour in the water, unconscious while I tried to keep you from drowning during a fucking typhoon.”

Zoro didn't have much to say to that, so he let his eye close and shifted his aching head against the cave wall. “What are you suggesting then? A romantic spoon? Or maybe a little deserted island forking?”

“I'm suggesting you try not to knife me, while I'm keeping you alive.” Sanji shifted closer. “Less sweaty and naked, and more 'please, god, don't die.'”

“I didn't know you cared.”

“You don't know a lot of things.” Sanji, settled against Zoro's side, draping an arm around his shoulders. “Try not to fall asleep, you're concussed.”

“Does that mean I won't remember this in the morning?”

“Probably.”

“Good... 'cause this is weird.”

“You don't have a single romantic notion in that lump you call a head, do you.”

“Keep your kinks to yourself.”

“You're the one who brought it up.”

Lightning struck the mountain again, far above them, shaking the ground. The wind howled past the mouth of the little cave.

“Do you think they're alright?”

Sanji sighed; “They'll be fine.”

0-0-0

Chapter Text

***

The night wore on, each minute felt like it stretched into the abyss. The storm worsened, waves crashed against the base of the mountain. Lightning streaked across the sky, red, yellow, blue, and stark white. The noise was like a battlefield, phantom voices on the wind shrieking in agony.

Neither rested. Sanji too unsettled by the noise and the chill of the wind, and Zoro too focused on staying still and fighting off the permeating cold seeping into his bones. It felt like an army had set up camp in his arm and begun beating war drums. He wanted to sleep, wanted to lose consciousness so he didn't have to deal with the pain of it, but every time he came close to dozing off the mountain around them shuddered or lightning hit too close to their little cave, and he could feel the electricity along his nerves like liquid fire.

It seemed endless, the crash of the waves, the roar of thunder, and the scream of the wind, but eventually exhaustion and cold won out.

He didn't so much dream as relive the stowaway's attack over in his head. Over and over, each time it became worse, more horrific until Zoro watched the whole crew be swallowed by the sea. It felt like he was dragging three hundred tons of weight with each step. The world warped and turned upside down, the sky a heavily churning ocean above, and below the ship naught but black clouds and shards of lightning.

The stranger's bulging eyes were glowing from within, light coming up his throat as he grinned. The cloud waves crashed against the ship and Robin went overboard. Luffy's attempt to catch her and pull her back failed and she disappeared into the blackness. Brook and Chopper were washed away as well and still Zoro could barely move.

Nami and Franky shattered into clouds of smoke and glitter when lightning struck the ship, Usopp screamed and disappeared into the distance, still trying to tread water... and Sanji was fighting the stranger, whose face was not the same, but shifting through their previous enemies, all the while that burning glow continued from within him.

Luffy was caught by the waves, and he fought. Screamed and cried for Zoro to help, but he couldn't move. Dragging himself even half a step forward was nearly impossible and he reached for his sword-- for Wado Ichimonji to cut the invisible tethers, to free him from this hold, but the blade was gone.

Luffy begged, thrashing and the waves washed over him again... he did not resurface.

Zoro roared eyes locked with those of the stowaway and the man raised his gun.

The shot broke whatever spell was over him and the world righted itself violently.

Everything, in those brief painful seconds was crystal clear.

The storm, the bucking of the ship beneath him, the waves.

It all happened in the matter of a few heartbeats.

The bullet crashed into his arm and knocked him spinning. He dropped his swords.

Luffy screamed his name, the captain's face blurry and obscured behind the pot lid he'd fastened within his hood. Just a handle and foggy glass. He ripped the lid free and ran at Zoro, face twisted in rage and terror. “ZORO!”

A wave crashed over the lawn, knocked Luffy off his feet and he screamed, scrabbling against the grass to keep from being swept away.

“LUFFY!” Sanji kicked the gun out of the stranger's hand, snapping his wrist and the man shrieked.

The cook tumbled across the deck and grabbed their captain by the hood and front of his coat, dragging him backward toward Nami's little grove. The tree swing became Luffy's lifeline and he clutched it with shaking pale hands.

Zoro saw his face, wet and pallid pleading. “ZORO!”

Another wave, from the other side of the ship, tossed the whole vessel hard to port. Tipping the mast toward the waves. Zoro rolled, the grass too slick to grip. He caught a sword in each hand as they washed toward him in the flow, but the left was numb, barely able to keep its grip, and stabbed both into the sod. Mercilessly the storm battered them and before Zoro could stagger to his feet yet another wave caught him in the chest and lifted him free. Tumbling, drowning-- he collided with the railing as he went overboard, twisting and staring up in shock at the sky, the yardarm, Luffy's hand reaching-- stretching toward him, but covered in salt water and weak.

Hitting the water was a shock. Like hitting a wall. He flailed, managed to draw Wado, desperation in his movements as the sea pulled him away from the Sunny, only to slam him back against the hull. His intention gone, Wado pierced into the Sunny's side just as Zoro's head collided with it as well. Everything immediately went black.

Seconds, it could only have been seconds, he was aware of sinking, all the air escaping his lungs, staring upward and seeing only a blur of diffused lightning bolts and shadow. A body plunging into the water near by. A blonde head.

And darkness took him again.

Zoro woke suddenly, more tired than he had been before, and his whole body groaned in protest. Every inch of him hurt. He pried his eyes open and found himself turned into the cook's chest, salt and smears of sweat sticking his brow to the blonde's collarbone. He peeled himself away gingerly, and watched as Sanji shuffled stiffly backward against the far wall, trying to stretch his long limbs in the cramped space.

Dawn was a wan gray light on the horizon beyond the mouth of the cave. The sky was still black with cloud cover, but it had stopped raining, and the sound of the ocean wasn't so hectic. The water was relatively calm, the storm surge having receded in the night. The island was still in shadow, but the shape of the clearing at the foot of the mountain was vaguely visible, within it a number of small dark ruins amid overgrown vegetation.

“You alright?” Sanji said carefully.

Zoro nodded, not exactly sure if he was lying or not. He rubbed his face tiredly.

“You don't look like it.”

“You don't look so hot yourself.”

Sanji, in fact looked terrible. Pale, bruised and stiff. His hair was a mess, curly in places Zoro hadn't realized it was, plastered down in others. The cuts on his back and shoulder had stopped bleeding, and though inflamed they didn't appear to be in bad shape.

“Can't say I feel my best, but at least I don't look like a damned corpse.” Sanji patted himself down, his clothes were apparently still damp, but dryer than his shirt and jacket. Gingerly he stretched his arms and back, eyes never really leaving Zoro. “Are your clothes still wet?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. We need to find something to build a fire with. It will warm us both, and let the others know where we are. Movement will help us regain heat, and as much I don't like the idea, we need to work together. The sooner we build a signal fire, the sooner we will be found and you can get medical attention.”

“If they didn't all die in the storm.”

“You're almost as morbid as Robin... Come on.” He offered a hand and carefully tugged Zoro up into a kneeling position. “How does your arm feel?”

“Like I got shot.”

Sanji rolled his eyes; “Does it hurt more or less than it did last night?”

Zoro prodded the side of his head gingerly, he had a firm lump between his right temple and ear that was painful to the touch; “I don't remember much of last night.”

“Fine... Can you move your fingers?”

He could not.

“Put your hand in your shirt, like a sling... No, between the buttons.” He tried to help but Zoro swatted halfheartedly at him so Sanji turned and crawled out of the cave instead.

The island was empty, a few birds in the trees, large hermit crabs on the beach, six or seven stone huts that were destroyed years earlier. There was definitely the remains of a village or settlement of some sort, even overgrown garden beds with wilted potato and carrot plants. Fruit in a few trees, so Sanji wasn't worried they would starve. The food wouldn't be anything like his usual fare, but having food and water was a large part of the problem solved.

“It's not a very big island, is it.”

Zoro grunted.

“As articulate as ever, Moss Head.” Sanji sighed and peered around, trying to get his bearings. “Okay, fire first, then I can survey the place while looking for food.”

“What about me?”

“You tend the fire and get warm.”

Sanji didn't move. Just stood there on the beach where he'd washed up and stared out at the horizon. He could still see the storm in the distance, but what frightened him was that there was no speck of red. No hint of a ship... No sign whatsoever of the Sunny.

Zoro stood shivering at his elbow. “What is it?”

“I-I don't see them.”

Zoro took a deep breath. “Do you think it went down?”

“No... But--” He felt sick at the thought, “But they could have been caught up in the storm and thrown off course. They... They could be miles away from here.”

“So, we're screwed.”

“No. No, we just have to get that fire going. It'll be visible for a hundred miles or more.”

“Everything is soaking wet.”

“Not everything...” He turned and looked up at the mountain. “If we can manage it, a fire on the highest point, and we have Nami's snail.”

“You mean the dead snail?”

“She's not dead!” Sanji said. He rubbed his brow. “Look, you just stay here. Don't wander off, I'll be right back-- I mean it, you moss for brains! Don't go anywhere!”

Zoro rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, but took up residence on the edge of the ruined pier, gripping his left elbow.

Sanji stared at him for a handful of seconds, then with a reassuring nod, ran back to the cave and collected the snail. She was still hiding in her shell, but when he held it to his ear he could hear her wheezing breaths and sad little coughs.

The dial had dried, thankfully, but there would be no way to know if it still worked unless he tried it. “Come on, you beauty, please?” He stood outside the cave and dialed. Prayed for connection, prayed the little snail responded.

She poked her head out of her shell, coughed a little louder, but her eyestalks were upright, focused, squishy little body tense.

Sanji held his breath.

After a moment the snail blinked tiredly and retreated back into her shell.

Nothing.

“Alright, think you can try again when I get to the beach?”

The snail blew a few bubbles.

Zoro, miraculously, was still sitting on the edge of the pier when Sanji came back into view. He'd dug his bare toes into the sand and was watching the waves chase little hermit crabs up and down the shore. “I told you it was drowned.”

“She's just got a cough. Some food and rest and she'll be fine.” Sanji tried dialing again, but the snail didn't respond. Weakly sputtered half a tone, then disconnected.

“So, how are we going to build a signal fire when everything is wet.”

“There are some huts toward the center of the island. One of them at least has to have a stove. A stove means cooking oil. Oil burns . We can use that until some of the dead palm fronds and such have dried out.”

Zoro nodded, then with a sigh, looked at the ground; “I don't know how much help I'm going to be like this.”

“Yeah, you're pretty useless without your swords... So, just-- just sit there and try not to bleed in the water. We don't need any sharks drawn to us.”

Zoro looked visibly insulted. “Just because I don't have my swords, doesn't mean I'm not armed!”

“One armed.”

He glared, and in one fluid motion pulled a folding knife from his pocket, flicked it open and stabbed it into the rotting pier at his hip.

“What's that? A pocket knife? I'm supposed to be scared of a pocket knife?” Sanji snorted; “Is that the one you took from Luffy when he nearly cut his finger off?”

“A knife is a knife--”

“That's a glorified potato peeler!”

Zoro was on his feet, knife in hand. He looked surprisingly threatening considering how pale and bloody he was. Even a two inch pocket knife could be deadly in his hand in the right circumstances.

Sanji lifted his hands in an attempt to placate the swordsman. “Fine... Arguing isn't going to get us rescued... If you want to help, find all the dead palm fronds and wood you can. I'm going to search those huts.” He turned and walked away. The island was small, so there were only so many places Zoro could get lost anyway. “Just don't bleed out and die somewhere without telling me first.”

It wasn't easy finding oil in the ruins. There was a rusted cooking pot in one, a rotten keg that used to hold pickled fish in another, a metal Navy Marines chest in another that had odds and ends and a few threadbare old wool blankets that smelled musty in it. The dusty shell of a massive, long dead transponder snail. A rusted bird cage, and a rusted camp stove with a few feet of disintegrating pipe on it. The oil he found was a glass bottle of mineral oil with a peeling label on it that read 'laxative'. He snorted, amused, and contemplated feeding some to Zoro, just to see what happened, but thought better of it when he realized they were going to be sleeping in the same cave.

When Sanji exited the ruins he found Zoro on the beach dragging something from the waves.

“What's that!” Sanji jogged over and caught the other side of the crate, taking most of its weight in deference to Zoro's injury.

“I don't recognize it. Maybe we weren't the only ones caught in the storm.”

It made sense, a storm that big. “Was there anything else that looked useful?”

“Just a bunch of debris and a piece of a torn sail.”

It was a wooden crate, rather unexciting looking, with a padlock on the front. Sanji kicked the lock off and pried it open. “Well, that's useless.”

Inside were little jars and tins of hair tonic and pomade, metal combs, and hair pins. Toilet paper that had turned to wet disgusting pulp. “It's a toiletries locker.”

“Some of this stuff might be flammable.”

“Alright, yeah, it might be.” Sanji plucked up one of the tins and twisted it open, cracking the wax seal. He gave it a sniff. “Not bad actually... Oh! Hairnets!”

Zoro snorted.

“Don't you laugh. We can make a fish trap out of these!”

“Any alcohol?”

“Is booze all you think about?” Sanji shook his head and continued sorting through the crate.

“Disinfectant, asshole.”

Sanji hummed and picked up a bottle, scanning the label. “Mouthwash... facial cleanser-- Hydrogen peroxide!”

“How many bottles?”

“Just one, there's a few broken ones... So, one mouthwash and three facial cleansers.” Sanji held up the bottles and Zoro tucked them into his pockets.

“It'll work until Chopper can take a look at it.”

Sanji dragged the crate inland and showed Zoro the marine locker he'd found. “Its possible this was an outpost, but I haven't found any other evidence of marine presence.”

“At this point I'll take what I can get.” Zoro pulled one of the blankets out and wrapped it around himself, then continued to paw through the wet contents of his salvaged crate.

“Cold?”

“What do you think?” He sat heavily on the locker and shook his head. “So we've got stuff that will burn, great. Can we get that fire going I don't want to spend a second longer here than I absolutely have to.”

Sanji couldn't argue with that and went about pulling some of the dryer roof beams and old thatch from the less stable ruins. It wasn't fun work by any means. His hands weren't used to pulling and dragging and hefting rough lumber and wet palm fronds, but he did it anyway.

Zoro watched with a vaguely dazed expression on his face while Sanji created a pyre. The blonde splashed some colorless oil on the wood and fronds, then lit it and dashed backward so it didn't spark onto his clothes or hair.

It took a while for the fire to begin burning in earnest, but the oil had the added bonus of creating a lot of dark smoke.

“What do we do if some other ship comes first?”

“It depends if they're friendly or not.” Sanji said, scanning the surrounding trees for fruit.

Zoro regarded him tiredly, and didn't bother getting up or attempting to follow when Sanji wandered off, just called; “Don't get lost.” And grinned when the blonde shouted expletives back at him.

The sun didn't completely break through the cloud cover, and it remained chilled and windy all morning and deep into the afternoon.

Sanji found fruit and brought it back, producing a wicked looking ten inch long blade from a sheathe on his left calf to cut it.

“Since when do you carry a knife!” Zoro stared in shock at the blade. “What the hell even is that, some kind of tanto?”

“Techically, but it's a chef's knife made in the tanto style.” He gave the swordsman a self-satisfied smirk; “I use it to get through jackfruit.” He dragged up his other pant leg and pulled out a second blade. “This one, however, might be more to your liking.”

This one was indeed a tanto with a simple black enameled sheathe and mosaic brass pin through the hilt.

Zoro took it carefully and examined the sharpness of the steel. “That's a waste, this is a beautiful blade and you're using it to chop into jackfruit.”

“I haven't used that one, actually. I found it being sold as a kitchen knife in that shepherd's village two islands back, bought them to replace the ones I lost after the whole Enies Lobby thing. But, it clearly isn't a kitchen knife.”

“And you kept it why?”

“Honestly?”

Zoro cocked an eyebrow.

“To piss you off.” He took the blade and put it back beneath the garter straps holding up his sock. Then proceeded to cut the rest of the fruit he'd found in half and offer a section to Zoro. “Eat something, you need to keep up your strength.”

“One of these days I'm gonna beat the crap out of you and take that thing.” Zoro motioned to Sanji's right leg. “You'll probably just slice cheese with it or something.”

“Oh-ho! If you think you can manage it you're welcome to try, Marimo.” He grinned impishly and took a bite of his own fruit. “But It's not going to happen. I've got something you want, and you're not going to get it!”

Zoro sucked the pit out of his peach and spat it toward Sanji spitefully.

“You're disgusting. What's the matter with you!”

***

The afternoon faded into evening and the smoke continued to tower over the island. Sanji tried repeatedly to get the little snail to connect, but all she did was wheeze and blow bubbles between tiny bites of fruit.

For the most part Zoro stayed silent. He'd watched Sanji tending the fire, gathering fruit and exploring the overgrown garden areas of the clearing for potatoes, carrots and a few wilted onions. It was when Sanji began scouring the inside of a rusted cast-iron cooking pot with a stone he'd found that Zoro became irritated. The sound was ugly. Metal being tortured, rust slowly grinding away. It ate at his nerves. Twice he forced himself to his feet and disappeared behind the nearest bit of ruins to relieve himself, or wander around out of sheer boredom.

He walked from one side of the Island to the other and never lost sight of the smoke. But the cook still ran over shouting with his hands on his hips. “I told you not to wander off!” or once he had become irritated with Zoro's exploring; 'Over here, Mossy. Here, Mossy-Mossy-Moss! Nope, other way!'

“If you start with that 'here boy' bullshit again I'm going to pound your face in!” Zoro snarled as he took up a place closer to the fire.

“Don't act like a dog off its lead and I won't.”

“You're the dog.”

Sanji snorted; “Someone's cranky. Need a new nappy?”

“I know where you sleep.”

“Are you stalking me?”

“Fuck you!”

“Is that an invitation?”

Zoro threw a handful of dirt at him.

Sanji grinned, “You're not my type, but if you keep pouting like that I may have to make an exception.”

“You disgust me.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“Horny idiot. Get away from me!”

Sanji didn't deny it, just grinned and sauntered off with a sway of his hips.

As the diffused light began to fade Zoro began to worry that the ship wasn't coming. That the Sunny had sunk, or been blown so far off course that they couldn't see the smoke against the clouds. His arm was throbbing and felt hot and he knew that if something wasn't done, if the wound wasn't cleaned and the bullet removed, he was risking a serious infection-- if he didn't have one already.

“Well, shit.”

Sanji looked up from tending the fire, half a carrot sticking between his teeth for want of a cigarette. “What?”

“I need to get the bullet out, we've waited too long as it is. Even if they can see this smoke, we can't see them, which means they're too far away to make it here tonight.”

Sanji's face became grim. “Shit.”

“It needs to come out. And I'd prefer it be before we lose the light.”

“How do we do it? I'm not a doctor, and I have even less confidence in your medical expertise than I do my own.”

“'s not the first bullet I've cut out of myself. I just-- I need you close in case I hit an artery or something, you can stop the bleeding if I lose consciousness.”

Sanji's jaw clenched and he quickly crunched up his carrot stick, shuffling closer around the fire. “I don't like this plan.”

“Well, it's the only option we've got. Even if they showed up first thing in the morning I'd still be in for it... The bullet went through my sleeve, there's fabric in there somewhere.”

Sanji nodded. “I'll boil some water.” He found one of the larger tins in the crate of toiletries and emptied it of ruined mucky face powder, then visited the spring to wash and fill it with fresh water. He hadn't managed to scratch all the rust and years of debris out of the cooking pot he'd found and he didn't trust it for something this delicate.

Zoro watched it all with his brows pulled down in deep thought. “If I drink some of that mouth wash, you think I'll get drunk?”

“I think that stuff would be better used as a disinfectant, although it might make your breath smell better.”

Zoro didn't really have the energy to argue so he just rolled his eyes and watched the water in the tin begin to steam.

“We can use my shirt as bandages. Its ruined anyway.” Sanji held out the garment.

“I don't know how I feel about you running around in a bloody tanktop for the foreseeable future.”

“Well, I could donate my trousers instead, but--”

“ No. No, nevermind.”

“Thought you'd agree.”

Zoro eyed the water again, then pulled out his pocket knife. “That needs washed and sterilized.”

Sanji poured some of the hot water over the blade rubbed it, then rinsed it again and splashed it with peroxide. “How's that?”

“It'll work.” Zoro shrugged the blanket from his shoulders and began carefully untying his bandana. The blood had dried to the fabric and adhered it to the edges of the wound, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “When I get it out, if its bleeding too heavily, you'll need to hold the blade in the flames until it glows.”

“Why?”

“Because it'll need cauterized. I don't want to lose too much blood. That'd just make the chance of infection worse.”

“So, you're going to deliberately burn yourself?”

“You have a better solution?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Sanji looked ill, “I know this is necessary, but... I've worked in a kitchen more than half my life, I've burned myself hundreds of times, but none of them were deliberate.”

Zoro met his eyes evenly. “It's not fun, but if I'm bleeding to death, it's gotta happen, alright?”

“God... alright. What do you need me to do?”

“Use the blue stuff, the peroxide will just bubble up and I won't be able to see anything. Do your hands, then when I say pour some right into it.” Zoro pulled up the collar of his shirt and stuffed it between his teeth. When Sanji shuffled forward on his knees and nodded he was ready Zoro pulled the bandana from his arm in a single quick jerk.

Blood welled up and Sanji got his first good look at the wound.

It had become incredibly swollen and red at the edges, a little fleshy volcano a few inches above Zoro's elbow with a dark oozing center. He'd seen plenty of wounds in his lifetime, and plenty more horrific than this, but it didn't make it any easier. Sanji tipped the bottle and sent a stream of mouthwash into it.

Zoro's hand reacted half a second before the rest of his body, gripping his own forearm so tightly his fingers turned white. Then his body went tense-- rigid-- and his head jerked back on his neck, chin up, teeth bared around the fabric of his shirt. He shouted, low and hurt and angry. Panted through it with his nostrils flared and his eyes squeezed shut. Sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip and with a low groan he lowered his head and reached for the knife.

Sanji watched it all with his jaw clenched, squeezing the bottle and waiting for his cue to add more disinfectant.

Zoro's whole body gave a series of quick shudders, then he seemed to go tight again, forcing himself to stillness, eyes shut. Three seconds, five, and he met Sanji's stare with a nod of reassurance before he sat to work.

Sanji wouldn't admit it, but it was almost too much, watching the blade of that knife disappear into Zoro's wound and knowing the man was doing it to himself. Every shiver, every hitch of his breath, every twitch of his fingers as he probed for the bullet.

Thirty seconds, one minute, two, six.

Sweat was rolling down Zoro's face at this point and he was so pale Sanji worried he was bleeding out.

“Do you have it? What's happening?” Sanji shifted closer, worry eating him up inside.

Zoro shuddered again and spat out the collar of his shirt. His voice shook, high and a little frightened. “I can't get it. The a-angle's wrong. I can't get it out.”

Sanji swallowed bile. He took a deep breath, then another; “Tell me what to do.” He tried to overlook the blood, told himself it seemed like more than it actually was, but knew that was a lie. He had to be quick, had to be careful, he had to do this right! Carefully he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife when Zoro released it, tried like hell to ignore the way the other man shivered and bit back a whine.

“Pro-probe around a little. It-- It'll feel more solid than anything else. You'll be able to tell what's m-metal and what's bone.”

Sanji didn't like the wording, or the idea that he was prodding Zoro's humerus with a knife, but a careful sweeping motion forward and back and he felt the tip of the blade tap sharply against something that was definitely not bone. “Okay, now what?”

“You have to-- have to go around it with the knife, find the edges-- shit be careful!” Zoro's nostrils flared and he bowed his head, fist curling against his own stomach, left hand limp.

“Sorry.”

“Find the edges and get the blade under it... Then-- then it's a-a scooping motion to break the suction and it should come out.”

“I feel that this would be somehow easier with a spoon.”

Zoro snorted in spite of himself.

“Shut up, I'm trying to concentrate.” Sanji tried to visualize it in his mind, the bone with the bullet butted up against it, stuck to it-- almost fused with it. “What if the bone's broken?”

“Can we worry about one thing at a time?”

“Right, sorry.” He felt around the edges of the bullet as gently as he could, grinding his teeth to try and block out the noises the swordsman was making, but he soon realized the problem. “The blade is too short, I can't get at it from the right angle.”

“Fuck,” Zoro said. “I-I was afraid of that.” His right hand shook as it lifted and he gestured to regain control of the blade. “This is taking too long as it is.” He took a deep breath and slid the blade free, turned it in his hand so the sharp edge faced upward, Then caught the edge of the wound and dragged the blade up to enlarge the opening.

“Shit-- That-- That's enough!” Sanji grabbed his wrist; “You masochistic bastard, warn me before you start carving yourself up!”

Zoro released the knife and swayed dizzily. “Didn't... didn't have a choice. 's gotta come out.”

“You still could have warned me!” Sanji felt nauseous. Oh, it looked so much worse now. Fresh blood streaming out and dripping off Zoro's elbow and fingers. Staining his clothes and the ground beneath them. “Damn it.” He took a breath for courage and sat back to work. Slid the blade back in and probed once more for the bullet. It was easier to twist the blade beneath it now and with a firm prying motion it popped free of the bone with a wet sucking noise.

Zoro almost slumped to the ground in relief, struggled to stay conscious until Sanji dropped the bullet into his palm. It was larger than the bullets he had seen on the Sunny. Oblong and smashed at one end. The lead had been molded with a little grinning face in it, but the impact had distorted it into something sinister. He slumped against the cook's shoulder and let his mind slip away a little. Fighting to separate himself from the pain and anxiety of it all. He remained conscious only enough to stay upright while Sanji poured more disinfectant into the wound, then bound it tightly with pieces of his shirt.

“Hey! Wake up!”

“'m awake.”

“You are insane,” Sanji said, wrapping an arm around Zoro's shoulders to guide him to the ground. “How could you do that to yourself?”

He tried to say that he didn't have a choice, and he'd done it before, although that time had been his shin and it had been a lot easier to see... and he'd had both hands. But none of it came out the way he intended. Barely decipherable slurs and chattering teeth didn't make for an articulate conversation.

Sanji wrapped the blankets around him and sat there chafing warmth into his right arm and side until well after the sun had gone down.

Zoro roused a little after nightfall and asked for water. He didn't even argue when Sanji propped him up against his chest and held the jar for him. He thought he must have slept because when he woke again it was morning and Sanji was prodding him in the face with a slice of fruit.

“You need calories, wake up. I caught fish.”

His arm still hurt, in fact it hurt a lot, but the unbearable throbbing had faded. He was even able to sit up on his own and eat.

“We need to figure out some kind of shelter that isn't the cave.” Sanji said evenly. “Caves breed bacteria, and I didn't dare move you last night, but sleeping out in the open isn't good for your wounds either.”

Zoro didn't even bother mentioning they'd both been sleeping beside a bonfire, so he'd been plenty warm. The wind had been annoying, yes, but from the looks of the sky, the cloud cover was breaking up. “What do you have in mind?”

“Some of the roof beams of the hut in the south end of the clearing are still good. I think I can make a lean-to there. It won't be perfect, but it will keep out the rain and block the wind.

“Alright, what do we do?”

“I can move the beams if you can tie the fronds together.”

“I can do more than tie fronds together.”

“We just cut a damned bullet from your arm not twelve hours ago, you were so pale I thought you were about to expire!”

“And now I'm fine.”

“You are not!”

“Yes I am!”

“You practically passed out in my arms!”

“I feel a lot better now, so can it!”

“Do you even hear yourself!” Sanji gripped his own hair in desperation. “You do this every time you get hurt! Just brush it off and pretend you're alright when you obviously aren't! Do you have a death wish, or is it really just masochism! Because something is wrong in your head if you think I'm going to allow you to act like nothing's happened!”

“You're one to talk! Your back is bleeding again, and your chest is covered in bruises!”

“Oh, forgive me, I have bruises and a cracked rib. How silly of me, of course that is more serious than a fucking bullet wound , blood loss, and a broken arm!”

“I'm tougher than I look--”

“Good! I'm glad! Because right now you look like moldy rice paper!”

Zoro took a swipe at him, but Sanji stepped backward and hooked Zoro's left knee with his foot, forcing him to totter dangerously off balance.

“I'm not fighting with you. I mean it! I'll tie you up and stuff you in that marine's footlocker!”

“I'm fine!”

“I don't believe you!”

“I know my body! I know when I'm in trouble, and right now I'm alright! I can help! We don't have a choice!”

Sanji hesitated and in that instant Zoro knew he'd won.

“Look, if I start feeling wrong I'll tell you. I'm not an idiot.”

“I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that.”

“Whatever. But, for now, I'm alright.”

Sanji shook his head, knew in his gut that this was a bad idea, but they didn't have much of a choice. “You are to stay beside me, understand? No wandering off, no going on walks, no disappearing. If I can't see you, you are out of bounds!”

“I'm not a child--”

“No, you're a moss for brains. You-you've got tardigrades instead of common sense!”

Zoro's nose wrinkled up; “What the fuck is a tardigrade?”

Sanji rolled his eyes and started walking toward the far end of the island.

“Hey, hey! Did you just call me stupid!”

“I really can stuff you in that trunk you know!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

***

Chapter Text

***

It took most of the day to construct the shelter. Once or twice Sanji kicked down dying trees and added them to the pyre. During their breaks the cook had finished scratching the debris and the major rust from the pot he'd found and, to Zoro's confusion, tossed it into the edge of the bonfire.

“Why'd you spend so much time torturing me while you scraped that thing with a rock if you were just going to throw it away!”

“I'm not throwing it away! I'm burning the rust off. Then, once it cools, I'll season it.”

“How the hell do you season a pot? You can't eat it!”

Sanji rolled his eyes; “It's a process of coating in oil, heating, and cooling. To do it properly it can take time, but its worthwhile, cast iron is incredibly versatile, nearly indestructible, and you cannot compare the levels and nuance of flavor you get when cooking certain dishes with it as compared to steel or copper. Plus, it adds iron to the diet, which you are in desperate need of right now.”

“Where are you going to get the oil? That bottle says laxative, and the only other stuff we've found is that hair junk that smells like shitty perfume.”

Sanji scratched at the scruff growing on his chin. “I found coconuts earlier, so I can extract the oil from them easily enough. Its not my favorite, but it will have to do. I can re-season it when we get back to the ship.”

There wasn't much else to do, so Zoro spent a long time just watching, or sorting through the waterlogged contents of that crate. The mucky toilet paper had dried along the bottom, and it took a while hacking at it with his pocket knife to get at the things beneath. It was kind of crazy how much stuff was in there, and the variety. There were women's hair pins, rusted plastic shavers, a few sewing kits in a round tin of variously sized sewing needles and thread. Sanji raided it immediately, taking a thick curved needle to help him sew fronds together with the packages of old bootlaces he found in the Marine's locker to better cover their shelter. Nail clippers, waterlogged lesbian porno magazines, a strip of condoms the length of Zoro's arm. He giggled and tossed them at Sanji when the cook's back was turned. 'Hey, busboy! They're your size!'

Sanji blushed, until he realized they were extra small, then he balled them up and threw them into the fire, turning to glare at Zoro as if contemplating tossing the injured swordsman in too. “If you've got the energy to make jokes, you've got the energy to help!”

“Ooo, did I hit a nerve?” Zoro leaned back against the crate, the edge of his lips pulled up. “Is Little Sanji a Mini-Mini?”

When the cook stepped into his personal space and reached for his fly Zoro threw up his hand; “Forget it! Forget it!”

Sanji snatched the ruined magazines away from him, his eyes bugged and with a grunt he turned and chucked them into the flames as well. “What if Nami or Robin saw those!"

“She might be in there, you know--”

“Don't you dare slander Nami like that you swamp-moss infused brick of shit! I'll kick your fucking head in!”

Zoro looked up, surprised, “Yeah... that-- that was out of line. I-- I shouldn't have said that.” He could joke like that with Nami herself. They often did, but Sanji took it too seriously, and the last thing Zoro wanted to do was put that type of animosity between them when they were stranded on an uninhabited island together. He didn't know for certain how long they would be here and Sanji may actually be the only thing standing between him and bleeding to death.

Sanji put a hand on his brow and took a deep breath. “I'm going to take a walk.”

“I'll... wait here.” Zoro couldn't look at him, stared instead into the flames and rubbed at the scars on his ankle.

Sanji was gone for a long time. Twice Zoro saw him walking down the stretch of beach opposite the clearing, but he couldn't tell what he was doing. Probably messing with that poor snail again.

Zoro turned his attention back to the crate when Sanji didn't pass by a third time. It was strange how boring it was, just sitting there hurting and looking at some strange sailor's toiletry chest. He briefly imagined a tiny little ship bobbing along without part of their sail, everyone having to poop over the side because their toilet paper was gone.

Luffy would think that was funny. Sanji... not so much.

Zoro hunched over his knees, gripped his left elbow and took a series of slow, deep breaths. Tried to meditate himself out of the pain. The bone of his upper arm was aching, felt like it was bending toward his body, twisting. Whatever damage the bullet had done had weakened it, and if he wasn't careful it would snap, he knew it, could feel with the tension in his muscles and tendons that something was no longer straight in there, a bowing, corkscrew of pain.

Sanji was back in, he supposed he should call it their camp, when Zoro lifted his head again. The cook had a dozen or so coconuts with him, some held by the green springy sprout, others cradled in his arms. He looked concerned when Zoro roused.

“You OK?”

“Yeah... Just tired.”

Sanji grunted and turned back to his coconuts, but however well he thought he was maintaining a neutral expression, he was not. The worry was plain in the wrinkle of tension between his brows, and the uneasy glances he kept throwing in Zoro's direction. But, neither of them were what one would call open with their emotions and Zoro knew it. So they said nothing. 

Making coconut oil apparently meant husking, and smashing open a lot of coconuts with his sock knife. Sanji seemed to be looking for the sprouted ones, as he explained harvesting the oil from them was easier than having to pulverize the meat and boil it to extract the oil.

“A mature sprout means the oil is collected on the inside of the shell, so I can just scoop it out, heat it to purify it, and it's done.”

Sanji popped the yellow, spongy kernel out and handed it over. “Eat this.”

“I don't want it—”

“I don't care. Eat it. You need calories.”

It was weird, any time the cook had had sprouted coconuts before, he'd only given the puffy looking bits to Robin and Nami, or on occasion, to Chopper. Zoro expected it to be sickeningly sweet from their reactions. How Chopper gobbled it up with a huge grin while Nami and Robin ate dainty little pieces drizzled with dark chocolate or dipped in coconut butter. It honestly wasn't as sweet as he was expecting, so he stopped complaining. Crunched through two kernels he was handed with a sneer.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Sanji said using a finger to scoop the last of the oil into a tin he'd emptied of hair pins.

“I can't eat all this!” Zoro picked up one of the kernels and threw it at Sanji's stupid messy blonde head.

The cook caught it, because his reflexes were sharp even when he was distracted and he abhorred wastage.

“Eat something, dumbass-- You're the one who needs calories, I'm not running around the island and trying to resuscitate a dead snail.”

“She's not dead!” Sanji snarled, but chomped into the spongy sprout anyway. Muttering as he chewed.

Zoro made him eat most of the remaining ones before he relented. It seemed he'd made the right call as Sanji seemed less cranky afterward, even started chewing on some of the raw coconut meat he'd cut from inside the un-sprouted shells.

“You OK?” He waited for the cook to look at him before he gestured to the blonde's wrists. “Your hands are shaking.”

Sanji sighed. “Nicotine Withdrawal sucks.”

“Oh... I-I thought your back was infected or something.”

“No... I mean, my back is stiff as hell, but it's not bad.”

“Ribs?”

“God you're awkward... I'm OK. My ribs hurt the correct amount, my back hurts the correct amount.” When Sanji realized that those words weren't going to suffice he turned a circle with his arms out. “Do you want me to strip naked or something!”

“Hell no.”

“I'll be alright... Look, if it will make you feel better you can disinfect all the little cuts and scratches later.”

It didn't make him feel better, in fact he bared his teeth in disgust, but he knew it had to be done. “Fine.”

Sanji nodded and went back to the oil. “I hope you like roast eel.”

“Eel? What--”

Sanji jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the forest. “There are a lot of them in the stream back there. I think I can catch some.”

It must have been a kind of forgiveness, because Sanji's shoulders didn't seem as tense after that. Feeding Zoro in particular was always conditional to Zoro's behavior. If he'd really managed to piss the cook off, Sanji only made bare essentials for him to eat. Rice, cold beans, the smallest of the roasted fish, etc. If their interactions that day had been neutral he got the same as everyone else... if Nami had graced Sanji with a complement, or had been particularly kind toward him that day Sanji made Onigiri, or fried sea king meat. Something hearty and delicious and Zoro could have seconds or thirds without being noticed. The fact that now Sanji was suggesting eel wasn't just because Zoro was hurt and needed protein. He was acknowledging that what Zoro had said did step over the cook's line, but that he was inordinately defensive because he himself felt sick and irritable because of the nicotine withdrawal. 

Althought, Zoro thought he kind of deserved that... just a little. Those cigarettes smelled awful and made his nose run.

Sanji used a stick and pulled the pot from the hot coals. It was a steely black now, not a sign of rust on its surface. Zoro watched as the cook dragged it a good distance away and used the stick to prop it up to cool. He squatted there for a few moments appraising the pot, then nodded to himself and stood.

“It's good quality. Not excellent, but I mean... I've never owned any cast iron before, so--”

“You have a whole kitchen of pots and pans and shit. Is it really that special?"

“Yes, and Franky was gracious enough to supply top of the line copper and stainless steel... but, like I said before, cast iron is different!”

“So, you've never cooked with it before?”

“Oh, I didn't say that! Old Man Zeff had a set of pots and pans, he only used them when he was preparing certain cuisine. I've cooked with it a few times, but I've never had any of my own... its exciting... and daunting. It's so easy to ruin the season and have to go through all the trouble of doing it over.”

“So, it's like expert level pots and pans?”

“No... its just different... Special. Like fate has brought it to me.”

“You sure it wasn't just a big ass typhoon?”

Sanji rolled his eyes; “You do know how to spoil the mood, don't you.”

“It's a pot.”

“I think it was supposed to have a lid, so we'll have to keep an eye out for it. I don't want to break up the set.”

“I really don't care about an old pot you found in the ground.”

“I've noticed... You only really care about fighting, booze, and sleeping... Honestly I don't even think you fuck.”

“Are you sure you're OK? That's the third or fourth time you've brought up sex.”

Sanji pushed his hair back from his face and let out a frustrated moan. “This is why I smoke... Yes, I'm fine. I'll be fine.”

“Do you need some alone time or something? Because I will gladly disappear for an hour if you need me to.”

“Oh, stop it. If you go wandering off you could pass out from blood loss and drown in the stream.”

Zoro made himself stay silent. It wouldn't do either of them any good, in their current conditions, to actually start fighting. Sanji's leg was significantly longer than Zoro's pocket knife, and Wado's sheathe was worth too much to him to risk damaging it, even if smacking Sanji in the head with it would be very satisfying.

Sanji wandered back over to the fire and irritably kicked a few more chunks of wood and green palm fronds into it.

Neither of them spoke for a long time after that. Not even when Sanji climbed to his feet again and headed back across the clearing to the shelter they'd been constructing. Zoro followed because he didn't have anything better to do.

The evening wore on like a slow march into oblivion. Not even sitting behind Sanji and prodding his cuts open to disinfect them sparked a conversation deeper than a few scant grunts and directions on which way to lean or twist to access all the abrasions.

Afterward Zoro spent a while staring up at the tower of smoke leading into the darkening sky. It had begun to trail off into the distance and he wondered absently if it didn't just look like a volcano smoldering. Would Nami even recognize it as a signal instead of a natural occurrence? He knew in his gut that if the Sunny were still afloat that they would be rescued. It may take time, but it would happen. Luffy wouldn't abandon them. But, at the same time something nagged at the back of his mind, fear that they weren't coming. That he and Sanji were alone and would die here on this nameless island.

“What if they don't come?”

Sanji looked up from where he was stitching banana leaves together. He had a dull, half asleep expression on his face, tired and bored and sore from their ordeal. “They're coming.”

Zoro looked toward the sea. “What if Marines find us first?”

Sanji glanced up at him, “Then we take them out, steal their ship, and call for Nami on one of those long distance snails they've got.”

“Is the one you took from Nami dead?”

“No.”

“Can I see it?”

Sanji blinked stupidly at him, then fetched the tin out of his pocket and handed it warily over.

Zoro sat on a rock a few paces away and held the tin between his knees while he pried it open, picked up the little snail and stared into its shell. He could see the pinkish wet skin of it inside, but there wasn't much movement. He brought the snail to his nose and sniffed.

“You better not be thinking of eating her!” Sanji scolded, brandishing the thick sharp end of the needle at him.

“She doesn't smell dead.”

“I told you she's not dead!”

The little snail peeked out one eye stalk then the other and blew a particularly large bubble right in Zoro's face with a raspy little; “Achoo!”

“She's congested!” Sanji said making grabby hands at the snail. “If I can find some ginger on this godforsaken island I'll make her some tea.”

Zoro rolled his eyes and handed the snail and her tin back to the cook.

The shelter was larger than the cave. Big enough that if you stayed near to the stone wall you could stand up and spread your arms out without touching anything.

Sanji had even managed to drag in one of the rusted military issue cots from another shack and layer fresh fronds, banana leaves, and soft grass over the springs to make a kind of mattress. It wasn't comfortable, but it was significantly better than lying on the ground.

That night Zoro didn't sleep much. The throbbing had returned to his arm, deeper than before, not as sharp, but just as draining. When Sanji insisted on seeing it to change the bandaging the next morning he made a face.

“This looks awful.”

Zoro glanced down at it with a sigh. The skin around the wound was red, and the wound itself was growing dark in the middle, slowly seeping blood and smears of yellow. “Well, there's not much we can do about it, just disinfect it again, and if its still swollen like this in the morning I'll have to scrape it out and stuff.”

Sanji looked faint. “Are you kidding?”

“No. It's what Chopper'll do when he gets here... Though he's got anesthetic, so I might be unconscious for part of it.”

“I don't like this.”

Zoro snorted. “And you think I do?”

“You might!”

Zoro rolled his eyes.

The day went much like the previous one. Zoro sat beside the bonfire and threw pieces of wood and palm fronds in while Sanji finished their shelter. Adding more stitched together banana leaves and the piece of tattered gray sail that had washed up. They stopped long enough to eat and drink or disappear into the undergrowth to relieve themselves, but other than that and mind-numbing boredom, the fifth day was uneventful.

As the sun began to set, Sanji dragged the little stove he'd found into their shelter and angled it so the pipe was sticking outside. He built a small fire in it, but Zoro still shivered through the night. Mumbled and grunted in his sleep and curled around his arm.

Sanji dozed off sometime deep in the night and when he woke Zoro was already up, sitting out by the bonfire with his blanket around his shoulders. He'd already fetched water, it seemed, and set it to boil in one of the larger tins.

“I've gotta do it.”

“Do what?” Sanji said, stretching. His skin was starting to feel tight across his shoulders, and he worried he'd been sunburned by working in it all the previous day.

Zoro motioned to his arm, eyes still on the fire. “The swelling is worse.”

“Damn it” Sanji crouched at his side and tugged at the bandages. “Can't you just leave it?”

“If I leave it its going to get worse. And who knows how long its going to take them to get here! You do understand infections can kill people, right?” His eyes were glassy but all too serious. 

Sanji did know this, he knew it quite well in fact, but watching Zoro cut himself was sickening.

“You can leave if you can't take it--”

“It's not that!”

“Then what the hell is it, because I'd really rather not get blood poisoning because you've got a weak stomach!”

Sanji rubbed his brow. “How can you do that to yourself? I-I can't imagine how much it hurts.”

Zoro let out a breath and his shoulders seemed to sag a little in understanding. He rubbed his face tiredly, “Yeah it hurts, but I'm going to do what I have to do. I can deal with pain, I can't deal with the idea of dying because some two-bit stowaway got in a lucky shot! I've worked too long and too hard to be taken out like that!”

There was an urgency in his expression Sanji could feel. A need and fear that hurt to look at. Zoro wasn't supposed to look like that. Sanji shook his head; “I still don't like it.”

“Well, you don't have to. But that doesn't mean I don't have to do it.”

“How much more blood can you lose?”

“I've survived worse.”

“Yeah,” Sanji shook his head, “That's what worries me.”

***

It was a long day. Long and bloody, and Sanji spent most of it sitting beside the cot watching Zoro breathe.

The swordsman had remained conscious after cleaning the wound only long enough for Sanji to tie clean strips of his shirt around his arm. Then without word or warning he'd gone limp as if someone had cut his strings. Thudded backward against the ground like a corpse.

Sanji had contemplated letting him lie there beside the bonfire, but decided against it. It was blisteringly sunny that day, and if they both wound up with sunburns on top of this, it could be deadly. So, he'd dragged Zoro back to the shelter and put him on the little bed.

He was unconscious until early evening and even then didn't seem keen on moving. He was pale and sweaty and flushed with fever, but worse than that, he was quiet. Even when Sanji goaded him, Zoro remained quiet.

He ate in robotic jerks, blinking slowly and swallowing with great difficulty. Obviously nauseated. He managed very little, then curled onto his side with his knees drawn up. He took a few deliberate breaths, eyes clouded and spoke in a hushed tone. 

"I'm tired. You... You can go do whatever, I'm gonna stay here  while."

Sanji swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. "Of course. I'll- just call if you need anything."

He nodded, eyes falling shut. 

Sanji kept the signal fire up and spent a long time circling the Island staring out at the sea, waiting. The sun dipped slowly, agonizingly toward the horizon, casting the stillness of the world around him in amber and red.

It was beautiful, and he hated it. For a few breathless seconds he lost himself. Snatched up rocks and sticks and tufts if dead grass and threw it at the shore. Snarled and let out a roar of frustration, his whole body shaking with the intensity.

Then as quickly as it began the anger evaporated, left him kneeling there in the sand trembling impitently. Hoping, praying to see a flash of light as evening gave way to night. But there was nothing. An empty, grinning blackness on all edges of the horizon.

He tried to prod the little snail into working a few times, but there wasn't much of a reaction. She was still too weak, or the Sunny was too far away. He didn't know which possibility hurt more. 

It was a long night. 

***

Sanji circled the island as soon as the sun rose. On the far side, some more debris had washed up, useless pieces of splintered wood, a man's shoe, and a tricorn hat with a wool pug's face pinned to one side below a broken off feather. He saw more purple eels in the shallows, darting in and out of groupings of colorful coral, wondered if catching a few would give Zoro more protein and help him regain some strength.

He had refused to get up when Sanji crawled out of their shelter. Said he was too tired 'after that'. Sanji hadn't argued. He didn't have it in him to at that point. 

If Sanji were being honest, he felt like shit as well. Six days now without a cigarette, he had moved well past the 'irritable' stage and into undeniable physical symptoms. His skin had begun to itch and his head ached. He tried to keep himself occupied, scoured the main clearing and found a few more overgrown garden beds. Sweet potato, parsley, a stunted sun burned squash. Various fruit trees and a few pineapple plants with over-sized yellowing pineapples. But, his mind rebelled. There wasn't much variety of food on the island, the native birds were small insect eaters with barely half a mouthful of meat on their brittle little bones. His fish trap caught a few small shallow water fish, but the ladies' sewing kit he'd found at the bottom of the crate Zoro had pulled from the waves didn't offer anything strong enough to be used as fishing line. The eels weren't easy to catch, but they were plentiful, so eels had become their primary source of protein. Even if after four days of them Sanji's stomach was considering mutiny.

His arms, back, and face had gone past a sunburn and what he could see of it looked like raw meat, little blisters multiplying by the hour. He thought he may give his right testicle for a damned shade umbrella, but the thought conjured too real images of what that may look like, and he wound up even more nauseous than before. 

There was one good thing about being sunburned though, no matter how hot it seemed to get chills ran up and down his spine. He knew that was a bad sign, but at least he didn't feel like he was slowly being cooked alive. 

Sanji sighed and kicked at the water wondered if maybe submerging himself wouldn't feel better. Besides, there were large black urchins amid the coral off the end of the dilapidated pier, but they were roughly the size of his head and looked like they would sting if he tried to catch them bare handed and he really didn't want Zoro cutting urchin spines out of his hands, not after all he'd seen. 

So, eels it was... Again.

Things were not looking good.

***

By the morning of the eighth day Zoro was acting better, but Sanji knew that's all it was, an act. The swordsman was pushing himself to function, and every time Sanji insisted on changing his bandages, the wound looked worse.

The crater of the bullet wound was dark and looked sunken, bruises forming on his inner arm and around his fingertips. And the smell... It was subtle, sweet and sickening but grew worse every hour.

That evening lying on the cot Sanji pulled Zoro backward into his arms and he could feel the heat in the other man's body even around his sunburn, fine little tremors up and down his spine.

“You're an idiot,” Sanji whispered helplessly.

“I'm fine,” Zoro muttered back but he wouldn't remember it in the morning.

***

Chapter Text

***

Sanji paced around the island three times with the snail in his ear. She had stopped blowing bubbles when she sneezed, and poked her head out eagerly when he offered carrot tops, or a few little cabbage leaves he'd found.

He dialed, waited with bated breath, and heard her spluttering. Search tones. Scanning. Waiting. The same thing he'd been hearing for days. It had begun to feel futile, and his dreams had taken a dark turn. Fears that Zoro's morbid musings were correct and there was nobody out there left to hear their call. Or that, if there were, they would not arrive in time. 

Click.

Sanji's stomach dropped and he felt tears burning in his eyes. “Hello? Nami? Hello!”

Silence.

He whimpered; “Please... Please. Can-- Is someone there? Please answer me!”

The snail made a soft sound, like static. “Wooo--” Crackling. “There--”

“Can-- can you hear me?” Sanji swayed on his feet swiping frantically at all the water running down his face, catching in the scratchy hairs on his cheeks and chin. “Please, please say something.”

“Arc-- capt-- broken and-- icks it--”

“Nami-- Are you there? I-I can't understand anything you're saying!”

Crackle-crackle. 

“Orv—hell--blocked--toward the east-- outside.”

Click.

The snail made a dull dribbling noise and went still.

Sanji felt himself shaking, panic in his veins like acid. He scrambled and dialed again, muttering 'please please please' under his breath like a mantra.

Buzz buzz.

Buzz buzz.

Buzz buzz.

Click.

“Sanji?”

He couldn't quite recognize the voice it was so overloaded with static.

“Oh, god.” Sanji swayed and pressed both hands to his head. “Are you really there?”

“Sanji, I can barely hear you. We're coming! I promise we're coming.”

“You-- you can see the signal fire? The smoke?”

Silence.

“Smoke?”

“We built a fire, you should be able to see the smoke!”

Muttering, another voice.

“Sanji, we can't see any smoke.”

He turned and stared up at the plume stretching all the way up to the clouds. If-- if they couldn't see the smoke then they were hundreds of miles off course. Hundreds of miles away-- days DAYS away. His knees gave out and he dropped into the sand with a grunt.

“Sanji? Are you still there?”

“Nami--” He sobbed. “You-- you're kidding right? You-- you have to see the smoke. You have to be close! I-I can't handle it if you're not close!”

“I'm sorry-- I'm so sorry, Sanji-- we were stuck with the storm for two more days, the rudder chain slipped and it dragged us off course. But after you and Zoro went overboard we realized the stowaway had sabotaged the cola system. It went off a few times without warning and threw us to the north. Franky only just got it fixed, we're backtracking toward Onion Billy, but we don't see any smoke yet.”

“Oh, god... please.”

“Sanji-- Sanji, is Zoro with you? Did you two wind up together?”

He wiped his nose on his arm, coughed and cleared his throat. “Yeah... yeah he's here. He's hurt-- he's really hurt. His arm looks like rotting meat.”

Silence, high pitched chattering, clatter-clatter. A new voice echoed in his ear.

“Sanji! What happened! Tell me everything that happened!”

“Chopper? Is-- is that you?”

“Yes, now tell me!”

“The-- he was shot on the deck right before he went overboard. He-he hit his head pretty hard and was sinking when I went in. By the time I resurfaced I couldn't see the ship anymore, so I just focused on trying to keep his head above water... I got caught on some coral and-- we washed up on this little volcanic island. He-- that idiot-- he cut the bullet out of his own arm!” Sanji scraped his hair back from his face, focusing on the horizon where he imagined he could see a glint of red. “We found some mouthwash and some peroxide, but it's not enough... He-- he had to cut away some of the infection, but it didn't do anything. His arm looks worse now than it did before and-- And he's still acting like there's nothing wrong, but I know there is! I can see there's something wrong and it scares the hell out of me! I-I can't--” He grit his teeth, couldn't finish the thought.

“Sanji-- It's OK. Look. I need you to tell me, in detail, where the wound is, what you've both done, and what it looks like now. This is very serious. If he has an infection he'll need medicine.”

Sanji swallowed bile and forced himself to describe it all in bitter, nauseating detail.

For a long while later there was silence on the other end of the snail. Silence so complete Sanji worried he'd hallucinated the entire conversation, so he slumped there on the beach quietly weeping and going steadily more mad with each passing second.

“Sanji, are there blisters around the bruising?” Chopper's sweet little voice was almost a monotone. So devoid of emotion the cook wasn't sure it was real.

“What?”

Chopper took a breath and said it again, just as calmly. “Are there blisters around the bruising on his arm?”

Sanji blinked in surprise; “Yeah. They're kind of gross looking, like bloody pimples.”

“Sanji.” Chopper's voice shook. “Sanji, I need you to be completely honest with me. How many are there, and what color are they?”

“There were a few last night, just-- just little clear blisters. I haven't checked today, he was asleep when I left and I didn't want to wake him.”

“You need to wake him up. I need to-- I need to hear his symptoms from him, and check his mental state. Does he seem altered at all?”

“Not really. He's just as annoying as always. Chopper, what is it? Is this serious? You-- you're scaring me.”

The reindeer was quiet for a three count, “It's possible he's developed gangrene. If that's the case I'll need more information before I can give you instructions on how to treat it.”

Sanji knew what gangrene was. He'd overheard sailors, pirates, and marines alike muttering fearfully about it while drunk. It was often a death sentence if severe, and even more often ended a man's career if he survived.

“You-- you think it's that bad?” Sanji's face felt numb.

“I'm sorry, but what you're describing sounds like it, and if I'm right, you two will have to take drastic measures to keep him stable enough for us to get there.”

“I don't like the sound of that.”

“Then pray we're wrong.”

Sanji pushed to his feet, rubbing his eyes dry, and made a beeline to their little shelter.

Zoro was still asleep, curled on his right side gripping his left shoulder. His face was pale, cheeks flushed, and his lips were frighteningly dry. He didn't immediately wake when Sanji slipped into the makeshift room and knelt beside the cot. He didn't even immediately wake when the blonde slipped a hand under his prickly jaw and stroked fingers through his sweat sticky green hair.

“Hey, wake up. Wake up, the snail connected!”

His brows lifted before his eyelids. Consciousness was a goal he had to struggle for, but he didn't seem fever drunk, or disoriented, just exhausted. “It did?”

“Yeah. Chopper wants to talk to you while I look at your arm.” Sanji carefully lifted the snail from his ear, feeling her slimy little body un-stick from his jaw and lobe.

Her little eyes peered around anxiously and she stretched out eagerly to grip at Zoro's ear, ducking her head in to whisper.

Sanji didn't hear the conversation, just the soft tones of Chopper's voice while he untied the bandaging from Zoro's arm.

“How am I feeling?” Zoro said, “I'm fine--” His eyes flicked to Sanji, then away again as Chopper scolded him. “Okay-- okay! I feel like shit, but I'll deal with it. How far away are you guys?”

Sanji tried to tone out the swordsman's voice, but it was difficult, even more so when it was the only distraction he had from staring down at the other man's wounds.

The blisters had grown in size, some of the smaller ones merging into bigger ones. The fluid in most of them had gone reddish black, and the whole arm looked swollen and oddly lumpy in places. The skin stretched and shiny, the wound itself however was nightmarish. Black and gaping open in places bloodlessly. The redness around it had moved up the swordsman's arm and down past his elbow to his forearm, fingers swollen and immobile.

Sanji covered it again quickly, fear and certainty echoing in his head. Every story and overheard whisper from his days at the Baratie. Marines with wide eyes and missing teeth talking about friends they'd lost to it. Pirates with missing eyes and limbs throwing back shots of liquor and relating their stories of battlefields and days lost at sea, a hand or foot lost to the 'grene.

Zoro nudged him roughly in the chest and with a sigh, stuck the little transponder snail to the cook's face. “He wants to talk to you.”

Sanji snarled, he wasn't sure why, and batted that hand away. He lurched to his feet and stumbled out toward the bonfire, pulling the snail from his cheek and shoving her into his ear. “Yeah?”

“Sanji-- Did you get a look at the wound?”

“Yeah. What did the mosshead have to say about his symptoms?”

“It's not looking good.”

“Yeah, well, his wound is significantly worse.” Sanji kicked a few logs into the fire then sloshed a cup full of oil over it, watched as the flames jumped excitedly and a plume of black smoke billowed up toward the heavens. “Those blisters are much bigger and they look like they're full of blood.”

Chopper took a shuddering breath, static over the line rattling it into something ugly and inorganic.

“Chopper-- Chopper, what are we going to do?”

The reindeer sighed; “He told me that there are garden beds and plants everywhere. So, you can look for an herb... its called Yarrow. Do you know what that is?”

“It sounds familiar... what does it look like?”

“It's tall with small yellow or white bunches of flowers on top. The leaves are bushy and fern-like, almost like dill but flatter. The dried leaves and flowers, when made into strong tea, have antibiotic properties. It won't heal him, but it may buy us some time.”

Sanji was already moving toward the trees, scanning every flowering plant he passed. It took a few minutes, but with an excited shout he pounced upon a patch of scraggly looking fluffy plants growing along the edge of the irrigation stream cut into the back of the clearing. “Okay, if I desiccate this will it be potent enough, or does it need to dry slowly?”

“You can desiccate it, but fresh works too. It's just kind of bitter tasting.”

Sanji pinched off a handful of the plants and scurried back to camp. Zoro was on his feet, wandering around the general vicinity of the fire with a blanket draped over his head. He was gathering sticks and palm fronds and other debris, working as if he weren't injured and fighting a major infection.

“You idiot!” Sanji shouted and rushed toward him. “Sit the fuck down and stop trying to kill yourself!”

“I'm f--”

“If you say 'I'm fine' one more fucking time I'm going to kick you in the balls!”

Zoro's eyes widened in shock.

Sanji shoved him and then shook the bundle of yarrow leaves in his face. “Sit down, shut up, and let me work!”

Zoro didn't move.

Sanji experienced a brief moment of pure fury and aimed a kick at the swordsman's crotch, but Zoro dodged back with a frightened look on his face, gripping his wounded arm, tripped over the pile of fronds and sticks he'd been dragging, and landed hard on his backside staring up at him in surprise.

Zoro said nothing, so Sanji shoved his hair back from his face with an irritated sounding huff, and strode quickly away.

Preparing the yarrow tea was easy enough, it would have turned out much better if he'd been in a kitchen with a proper stove, but Sanji was adaptable and the season of his pot had worked on the third try. Boiling water on a freaking bonfire was not his first choice, but it sufficed.

While he was waiting for the water to boil the snail grew tired and disconnected the call, retreating into her little shell with a warble of distress.

“Its OK, its not your fault! You've been sick, haven't you angel.” Sanji plucked up a few Hibiscus petals he'd decided to sweeten the tea with and fed one to the snail. “Thank you-- thank you for finding them.”

Zoro rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Sanji brewed the tea probably too strong as it even smelled slightly bitter when it was done, but Zoro choked it down when Sanji explained what it was, and for the rest of the day whenever Sanji handed him a cup of it, he took it without comment. Sanji was willing to bet that the swordsman would remain silent for at least two days. He was wont to do that on occasion when he was feeling particularly moody or unwell and Sanji had alrrady noticed Zoro's appetite was dwindling two days before, and his movements were increasingly stiff.

He hoped, with everything in him, that the tea would help, would buy them a few days, because his heart wouldn't let him think that it might all be in vain.

The next day Sanji woke to the snail crawling across his face, buzzing quietly to alert him of an incoming call.

Zoro was still deeply asleep, curled in on himself around his arm. Strange little shivers were running through his body and he had crusts of mud on the soles of his bare feet. Sanji wondered briefly where the mud had come from, as it had been dry and sunny for days, but maybe the idiot had become lost on the way back from taking a piss the night before.

The cook plucked the snail from his cheek and eased out of their shelter. “Good morning.”

Chopper was on the other end of the call, asking urgently for updates, offering information on the treatment of Zoro's illness. “He'll want to be moving around, but you need to keep him still. How far has the infection progressed? Can he still move his fingers? Is there an odor?”

Sanji resigned himself to answering in as much gruesome detail as he could manage and took a brisk walk around the island, staring out at the sea for any indication that the Sunny was getting closer.

“You're sure you still don't see the smoke?”

“I'm sorry. Robin has eyes all around the perimeter of the crow's nest and Nami is scanning every hour on the hour, but we haven't seen anything yet.”

“What are you burning, cook-san?” Robin's voice was softer across the call. “I can do some calculations and give you an estimate of how close we will be when we see the smoke.”

“Uh... palm branches, wood, we're running out of oil. Anything really to make a lot of smoke.”

“You mentioned you'd found hair pomade?”

“Yeah, 'Lady Red's Gently Scented Curl Enhancer.'” He muttered, then snorted in hopeless amusement. “We seem to have found ourselves in possession of a Lady Red's salesman's toiletry trunk.”

“If you stand roughly a hundred-yards away from your fire, using your hand at arm's length to measure, how many hands tall is the smoke pillar?”

Sanji squinted up at it, then used his hand to give a rough estimate. “Six or so... and it's trailing off to the east five hand widths before the air current drags it to the south.”

Robin was quiet for a few moments, “We're in a southern traveling air current.” She called for Nami and relayed this information.

Nami's voice became uneasy. “So, we're traveling south... And the storm brought us in this direction.” Her finger slid across a map, “The stowaway's Coup-de-Bursts put us significantly farther to the west--” Her voice cut off.

Sanji heard a quick scuffle as Nami snatched the snail away from whoever had been holding it and darted out onto the deck muttering 'please please please' under her breath.

“Sanji, can you tell me what direction the storm passed from you that night?”

Sanji hesitated and had to take a moment to orientate himself due North by the angle of the sun, then struggle to remember what direction the clouds had been traveling. “Uh... vaguely north-by-northwest.”

Nami muttered it to herself and stomped around, a map rattled and Sanji heard the scratch of a pen. “Okay... the range of the first 'Burst during the storm was roughly forty-five to fifty miles... The storm was traveling north-by-northwest at roughly thirty-knots... the log pose had us traveling north-east... The second Burst was less, we'll assume forty miles, and the third was barely a five mile jump... giving a thirty kilometer area of error for drift.” She chewed the end of the pen, Sanji could hear her teeth clicking on it.

“The smoke should be around a mile high by this point.” Robin put in. “Which would give a roughly three-hundred mile area of visibility.”

Nami muttered something about wind currents and pesky opposing ocean currents. “We' should see it! There's no way we shouldn't... Unless... Unless we're re too far south.”

Sanji's insides tensed up. “What?”

Nami repeated it, outrage pulling her voice high and shrill. “We're too far south! Usopp! Turn the ship to the north-east!”

“You mean turn around?!”

“We're too far to the south-west! We've passed them! That's why we can't see the smoke!”

Sanji wanted to be sick.

“We didn't correct far enough to the east!”

“Nami--” Sanji's whole face felt numb; “Nami, what does that mean?”

The snail crackled with static.

“Nami!” He shouted, helpless.

“I'm sorry, Sanji. I'm so sorry. We-- we're at least a four days away. I am so sorry!”

Then Chopper's voice cut through the commotion. “Four days! We-- We don't have four days! Zoro is too sick, he might not make it!”

Sanji's legs wobbled. “If you drift too far you'll go out of range again. The snail-- she's sick, her range is down by at least half. If-- if you go out of range again what do I do?”

“We won't. I-I'll stay on the line.”

“She can't handle that. Thirty minutes of talking and she's exhausted. She nearly drowned!”

“It's going to be OK! Sanji, I promise it will be OK. Robin, ask Franky if we have enough cola pressure. We need to get there as quickly as possible.”

“Sanji,” Chopper's hooves clacked against the snail's shell. “Sanji, I'll call at mid-day. Let your snail rest and feed her some of the yarrow leaves and something with protein and lots of carbohydrates. What kind of food is there? Are you able to feed yourselves?”

“There's food... it's limited, but we're not going to starve. But Zoro-- do-do you really think he might not make it?”

“Unless you can get the infection under control, or remove the source, his chances aren't good. Gangrene attacks the whole body, he could be going into liver or kidney failure from the toxins in his blood.”

“How-- how do I fix it? How do we remove the source? He already got the bullet out.”

Something in his mind wouldn't let the obvious answer slip out. It was too horrifying, too traumatizing to think that it may come to such a thing. But Chopper was a doctor and even if the thought was painful, even if the idea was maddening, the little reindeer knew the reality of the situation, and knew that sometimes, things required one to be disconnected from their emotions.

“Sanji...” Chopper spoke evenly, “You might have to amputate his arm.”

***

Chapter Text

***

***

Zoro was sitting outside their shelter when Sanji returned. He'd wrapped both blankets around his shoulders and looked up with hazy gray eyes. Sanji knew, even before the swordsman said anything that something had changed. Knew because he saw the same fear he himself felt reflected in those eyes.

Zoro took a slow shuddering breath and bowed his head. He looked frighteningly small in that moment, as if pulling his limbs in toward his core would help ease his suffering, but all it did was make him look sick and young and unforgivably small. His voice shook; “Sanji.”

He dropped to his knees by the other's side. “I'm here.”

Zoro didn't lift his head, spoke more to the ground than to the man beside him. “Something's wrong... I-I didn't want to admit it, but it's really-- really wrong.”

“I know.”

“They're not coming, are they.”

“They're coming--”

“But it won't be soon enough.”

Sanji snuffed back wetness in his sinuses and swiped the tears from his cheeks. “They're at least four days away.”

Zoro took a shuddering breath. “I don't want to die here. Not like this.”

“Look, we're doing everything we can--”

Zoro's eyes were tired, underlined with dark waxy crescents. When he lifted his face his voice worn thin with illness and exhaustion, barely a hiss past cracked pale lips; “Stop. Just, stop… This–” He hesitated, shoulders drooping in defeat. “It's worse than I've let on.”

Sanji's stomach twisted. His pulse thundered in his ears. “H-how much worse?”

“I've been sick more times than I can count. Not even that damned tea is staying down… everything hurts. I'm nauseous, my joints hurt. The fucking smell makes me sick and I--” His breath hitched, “If—If I had my swords I could just cut it off and be done with it—”

“Don't talk like that!” Sanji wanted to cry. His whole body was shaking, stomach boiling in fear. 

"Sanji, look at me!” Zoro snarled. He shrugged the blankets back and tugged his bloody left sleeve up. The redness was moving up his arm, thick track like veins coiling toward his armpit and chest. The blood filled blisters in his inner arm were larger, weeping; “If by some miracle they showed up right now-- or even tomorrow morning, maybe-- maybe-- Chopper could save it, but I guarantee you I'd never be able to wield a sword with it again. It's too deep... the damage is done. It's gone!”

Sanji turned away, images of Zeff lying on that rock emaciated and dying flashed in his mind's eye. The bloody mess of his lower leg, subsequent surgeries after they'd been rescued. The old man still had days where the pain got so bad moving was only possible out of sheer will and bullheaded sense of duty as a chef.

“Why are you like this?” Sanji turned away, stared into the waves and fought for a stuttering sense of calm. He couldn't look at the swordsman, shame and fear and something bitter and selfish eating at his insodes. “Ever since I met you you've been so ready to cut off something-- is it a kink? Do you have a screw loose! What's wrong with you!”

Zoro sighed, eyes flicking skyward in search of strength. “I don't want this. I-I never have, I'm just-- I'm willing to do whatever I have to to survive, and if that means I do it with one arm, then that isn't going to stop me!”

“Well, in case you've forgotten, we don't have your swords. You have a f-fucking pocket knife, and I'll be damned before I let you use mine to butcher yourself!”

Zoro chuckled, helpless and sorry for it; “At this point, blondie... I don't think I can get myself off the ground, forget about something like this.”

Sanji turned and raked a hand through his hair, burned shoulders aching at the motion, “That's even worse!” He kicked a clump of dirt. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair for either of them. He snarled and dropped to the grass, then flopped backward, the ground felt like shards of glass against his exposed skin but he remained quiet, gripping his hair to keep his hands from shaking. “What the hell makes you think I'm capable of doing something like that! I-I don't use knives to hurt people! I—I can't!” He choked on a sob. 

Zoro sighed, voice soft and full of more confidence than a man in his condition should be capable of. “I know you can do it because you're stronger than you think you are, and you may be a pain in the ass… But I trust you.”

Sanji wanted to kick him. Wanted to take his stupid green head clean off because how dare he. How dare he say that after asking something so grotesque! So world altering. The situation was impossible, ugly and there was no help for it. He choked back a sob, chest tight and aching. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

Sanji gave himself five seconds. Five seconds to feel overwhelmed, hopeless, helpless, and broken. But, he refused to move. Refused to show the vulnerability on the outside. He shuddered, grit his teeth and took a deep breath then sat up and rubbed his face dry. “Okay.” He shuffled forward on his behind until his knees butted against the swordsman's. “Okay.”

Zoro reached out and caught him by the back of the neck, leaned their brows together and counted his own five seconds. Counted the ways this could go wrong. The ways it could end his dream and scar Sanji in ways the blonde might not be able to fully recover from. They may fight, may bicker and knock one another around, but there was respect there. Respect because each knew the other to be an equal, capable of being serious, of doing what they had to do to survive. To do what must be done to protect their captain and crew. Protect their home. To protect one another. 

This would be an unspeakable act of violence, but it was necessary to save them.

“Okay.”

***

Chapter Text

***

Chopper called at mid-day. His voice was even, professional. “How is he?”

Sanji gnawed on a stick, hands shaking; “He asked me to do it.”

Chopper sighed; “I see... I'm sorry. I can walk you through it, but it's going to be dangerous. I-I have to tell you that he might not survive it.”

And wasn't that a thought. Zoro had been close to death before, many times, but it had never seemed so immediate to Sanji. A possibility but never one with such odds.

“I know.” He stared out at the water off the end of the pier, tempted to offer his soul to some demon for a pack of fucking cigarettes because his nerves were shot, but he wasn't sure he believed in the power of demons and gods. Not after this.

“How much of the-- the antiseptic do you have?”

Sanji sighed and watched a hermit crab waddle into the sea. “Not enough… About a quarter of the bottle of mouthwash and one of peroxide.”

“I hate peroxide...” Chopper muttered. “It causes cell death.” Another sigh; “I'm not confident in this.”

“You'd be crazy if you were.”

“So many things could go wrong.”

“You're not really inspiring my confidence, Doctor.”

“I just want you to be prepared. Franky thinks he can give us one Burst, but then we'll be out of Cola, and I was able to make carbonated water, but it doesn't have the same effect.”

“It's the sugar... Sugar burns. That's why it always smells like caramel afterward.”

“Sanji?”

“Yeah?” He spat out a shard of bark and poked the stick back in his mouth.

“Are you OK?”

“I'm sore, but none of my injuries look infected. I just-- I don't want to do this. He's a pain in my ass, but I don't want to do this to him. It's his dominant hand, Chopper. What's he going to do without it?”

“You can wait... If we see the smoke before nightfall--”

“But he'll keep getting worse... every second he's getting worse. I've seen him survive impossible things, but gangrene isn't something you can stubborn out of your system.”

“No, it's not.”

Sanji's voice shook; “I think his kidneys are shutting down. I-I had to prop him up earlier so he could piss and it was greenish.”

Chopper said nothing.

“What if it's already too late?”

“The only thing we can do is try.”

“Luffy will never forgive me.”

“Luffy will understand... Even if I have to explain it to him a hundred times, I'll make him understand.”

Sanji took a shuddering breath and pulled the mangled twig from between his lips, flicked it into the waves. There was no use prolonging the inevitable. Every moment only made the fear, and anxiety worse. Only let Zoro become more sick and closer to death.

"Okay, what do I do?”

“You'll have to restrain him. I don't care how much control he has over his body, he won't be able to stop himself from reacting. Sitting up is going to be easiest... Stretch the arm out horizontally as far as you can and put a tourniquet at least four inches above the highest point the rash as reached if possible. Cinch it down as tightly as you can. Leave it until the arm goes numb, it'll be less traumatic to him if he can't feel the first incisions.”

Another voice came over the line, high and frightened. Chopper turned, and replied to whatever had been said. There was a brief scuffle and Sanji could hear Luffy screaming, sobbing;

“ZORO! NO! ZORO! Let me– let me talk to him! Please!”

Sanji pulled his knees to his chest and squeezed himself so tightly his injured ribs screamed. A few moments later Chopper returned, speaking to someone else.

“Sanji's going to operate... I need to walk him through it, try to keep everyone out, nobody needs to hear this.”

“What about Luffy?”

“Nami and Usopp are with him. Just-- just make sure nobody gets close to this room, OK?”

“OK.”

Sanji shuffled backward off the pier and stood wiping his face, began the trek back to camp.

“Do you have a knife?” Chopper said hastily.

“Yeah... He's got a shitty pocket knife, but I've got two.”

“Okay, you'll need a blade you can use to cauterize it, and one for cutting.”

Sanji rubbed his face. “Okay.”

“Set one in a flame until it glows, keep the other sterile... Boil water and clean as many bandages as you have... Do you have anything you can use to close the wound?”

“Uh, there's a sewing kit.”

“His hair isn't long enough to use as suture, what else do you have?”

“Hair? Really?”

“Yes, but don't use your own. I'm going to revise it as soon as we get there, so as long as the wound is closed and clean then he has a chance.”

“My jacket has a silk lining... You've used silk thread before, will that work?”

“The infection will destabilize it quickly, but it will have to do. Don't use cotton, or synthetics. You'll need to clean his arm-- it won't be pleasant for him, but try not to rupture any of the blisters. Clean his arm, and clean your hands. Even cleaner than when you're cooking, understand?”

“I understand.”

Zoro was sitting beside the bonfire when Sanji came back into the clearing, his head was bowed but he didn't seem to be resting. He glanced up as the cook came into view and kicked a few more chunks of wood into the flames.

Sanji dropped into a crouch beside him and hooked a finger under his chin, tilted his head up until their eyes met. “Any last requests?”

“Daiginjo and sea king maki... with that spicy mayo you make. And one of Nami's stupid tangerines.” His whole body was shaking.

Sanji snorted, “We make it through this? As soon as you're healed, you'll get it.”

Zoro swallowed with some difficulty. “One more thing.”

“Name it.”

His lip curled up, eyes narrowing-- sly and cool despite his physical state; “Gimmie that tanto.”

“You piece of shit--”

“If you've gotta be the one to cut it off, I want it to be my blade that does it.”

“The principle of the thing, eh?”

“Yeah, if that's what you wanna call it.” His eyes fell closed, but the grin remained. “If I die here, I at least wanna do it properly armed.”

“Of course, can't relax without a weapon in your hand.” Sanji muttered and pulled the little blade from his sock garter. “No dying though... You take my knife, you owe me a replacement. You're not allowed to die until you've replaced it!”

“Bastard... Can't let me win, can you?”

“Never.” He put the blade in Zoro's hand with a little more force than necessary. “I've got to prepare... Don't you dare try to do it on your own, idiot Marimo.”

Zoro dropped his head forward with a grunt, just sat there and gripped the hilt of the little tanto. Sanji let out a trembling sigh and pushed to his feet, then moved away into the dim fog the rest of the island had seemed to become.

Zoro didn't talk much about his blades. He knew their stories and that was enough. Since being stranded here, however, he had begun to wonder what would happen if he died. Sandai Kitetsu and Shusui were, as far as he knew, still on the Sunny. But nobody knew their names. Nobody knew their stories, or their souls. What would become of them? And Wado Ichimonji, was it lost to the sea? Was that history gone as well? Had he been selfish not to tell his crew about her? 

Zoro took a shuddering breath, images of the sword, of Kuina’s will lost to the waves. Their spirits gone for all time. He looked down at the little tanto and with a slow exhale straightened his body. Settled into his bones and let himself reach out. 

He fully believed that every blade had a soul or spirit, some were light and barely a wisp, others were more forward. Cursed, or blood thirsty. He had encountered many. Sandai Kitetsu had killed all of its previous masters. Shusui had been wielded by the corpse of its past owner for decades. He thought of them. Of Wado Ichimonji in particular. Worried, ashamed for not being able to hold on. Regret. He shook his head, he had to let go of that, just for now. He could clear that hurdle if he survived what was to come. If he was strong enough. 

Another breath, find his center. Find that spark in the steel in his hand. Find the soul of the blade so he could know it as well as he knew himself. 

It was small, hidden, timid— wary. Had been neglected for so long before Sanji had found it. It had been abused and misused. But, Sanji had cleaned it, sharpened it, oiled the steel. It fit snugly within the saya, came free with a press of his thumb, slid out smoothly as he drew it and inspected the blade beneath the light of the sun.

Shinogi-zukuri ... a strong spine ridge. No wonder Sanji had contemplated cracking open coconuts with it. The cook had sharpened it to a razor's edge and the steel was almost mirror-like with darker and lighter coloration indicative of san mai forging. The Hamon was intentional, decorative, a design like brier roses and flower petals amid vines and thorns, and the habaki sported the same motif engraved on the brass.

It was a pretty little blade. Not particularly interesting on the outside, but as he appraised it the timid feeling gave way to something else. Curiosity, the spark of potential, a longing to be more than what it had been labeled.

The saya and tsuka didn't match the steel, he realized. The blade had been repaired. The hilt and scabbard were more modern, replacements. She was unfamiliar in her skin, unsure whose hands would take her up next.

“Now, that's something...” He closed his eyes, reached out to that stirring of potential, of faded memory, and saw something ebony and crimson, with red silk and ray skin. Just a flash, a hint, like remembering a dream.

She was old, but untried. Aware of what was being asked-- required of her. To take something vital from the man who now called her his own. But, also, to give him his life in return. Cool composure, but a willingness to bite.

“If you're going to take my arm, you deserve a name.” He brushed his thumb against the habaki, wondered, if he were to dismantle it to check, whose signature if any, would be on the nakago. He didn't speak it, but chose none the less. I'll call you Kamitsuki no bara.

Sanji muttered loudly, something about never complaining about the water pump on the Sunny again, because this walking back and forth to fill a pot was torture. Zoro barely heard him.

“You'd better not be thinking of hara-kiri over there.”

“In your dreams.”

Sanji dropped into a crouch in front of him. “Are you sure about this?”

“Not much of a choice... I'd rather not die because some moron shot me.”

Sanji took a measured breath, expression apologetic. “Okay... then I gotta... Chopper said I had to stop the blood flow. It-- It's gonna hurt.”

“Just do it.”

Sanji's lips compressed and he unfolded Zoro's pocket knife, cut through the sleeve and shoulder of his shirt so he didn't have to pull it off over his arm, and set to work on the buttons. The fabric was sweat soaked and stiff with salt in places. The whole left side stained brown from the blood and infection seeping through the bandages. Sanji held up the tanto while Zoro shed his ruined shirt, then handed it back carefully. Making sure the edge always remained upward facing as Zoro had been holding it. “Is it a religious kind of thing? What you're doing?”

Zoro took the blade back but didn't answer, so Sanji shook his head and set to work cleaning the swordsman's arm and shoulder with hot water and peroxide. He saw Zoro's jaw clench, and a subtle shift of his facial features as he worked, but neither spoke.

The fire crackled behind them and Sanji heard the water begin to boil in earnest.

He tied a strip of his shirt into a loop around Zoro's arm and with a sturdy dry stick he'd found and boiled, started. Loop around arm, stick through loop. Force the arm straight back against the edge of the crate.

Zoro flinched as his arm was straightened. He hadn't realized how stiff it had become in the past eleven days. The unforgiving pressure of the splintered bone shifting. How tight his skin felt, and the unsettling bubbling itching sensation around the wound. It was maddening.

“This is gonna get very painful very fast.”

Still silent, Zoro nodded.

At first it hurt about as much as having his blood pressure checked... but it kept going, tightening more and more, burning, pressure in the wound. Something popped and wetness sluiced down his arm and began dripping off his elbow. Sanji gagged, growled and kept tightening it.

Zoro was surprised at how tight it became, so much so that he could barely breathe for the pain of it. A fiery band high on his upper arm, almost into his armpit. Tighter and tighter until he wanted to scream. Pins and needles started in his swollen fingers, and he groaned, vision blackening at the edges.

“Breathe, stay with me. You can do this.”

“Just-- just do it!”

“Chopper said to wait until it was numb... that it will be easier on you if it's numb first.”

“I can't wait that long-- just fucking do it already!” It hurt worse than the initial wound had. Deeper, up and down the entirety of his arm where the bullet had radiated agony only for a while.

Sanji pulled his head close, tucked Zoro's brow under his chin. “Daiginjo and sea king maki... pickled plums, spicy mayo. Grilled Asparagus and that cucumber salad you liked with black sesame and tahini. And Tangerine Supreme... Have I ever made tangerine ginger custard for you?”

Zoro bit back a sob and shook his head.

“What about candied oranges?”

“No.”

Sanji ground his teeth, body positively aching for nicotine, for calm, for some kind of control. “We get back to the ship, as soon as I get my kitchen back in order, because I know Luffy's wrecked it by now... And as soon as you're healed, I'll make you a feast. Seared Tuna, Onigiri, that disgusting, cheap fucking spicy salmon if you want it.”

Zoro nodded, rubbing his wet face against Sanji's shoulder.

“We're going to get through this. Slow breaths... like this.” Inhale, exhale. In and out.

It took a few repetitions before Zoro managed it, easing himself down, tension releasing. He swayed forward with a whine, shivering, not really caring that Sanji had wound up straddling his lap. After a few minutes of just sitting there Sanji shifted backward and climbed to his feet. “I need the knife.”

Zoro took one last breath and handed it over. Stared out at the sea, the trees, the clearing. The smoke trailing into the sky. Tried to make himself memorize it, because this could end him. Even if his arm was numb for the moment, it wouldn't be for long. The universe had never been that kind to him. His head felt light, not enough air. Nausea crawled up the back of his throat. The sky was too blue, too bright. The heat from the fire was too great. His skin felt like wax. “I-I need--”

Sanji scurried into his line of sight, put a hand on his face. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“You-- you gotta-- you gotta knock me out.”

Sanji's face twisted in something like agony. “Don't, don't do this to me now. It's almost over.”

“Just-- just kick me really hard, or-- or choke me out or something. I'm gonna be sick.”

“You're panicking. Zoro, look at me. Look at me!” He gripped the swordsman's prickly face between both hands. “I need you to calm down... I-I'm barely holding it together here, and if you start panicking then I will and you'll wind up dead. So-- I know it's unfair, I know-- but please, take a deep breath... If you have to be sick, just do it in the other direction. But, please-- I'm begging you, don't make me do this alone.”

Something settled over him. A chill, phantom hands on his shoulders, shoring up his crumbling strength. “Did they find my swords?”

“What?”

“Just-- if they found Wado Ichimonji, I can do this. I-I won't let it beat me.”

Sanji sighed, irritated and a little mad; “Chopper? Did you find his swords?”

Zoro heard a soft murmuring, and a second later Sanji plucked the snail from his ear and stuck it to Zoro's.

It was not Chopper's voice, but Usopp's. “Zoro? Are you there?”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded terrible even to his own ears, shaking and watery, desperate.

“I have your swords. All three of them. The white one was stuck in the side of the ship. I cleaned it up as much as I could and oiled them really well, but the silk might need to be replaced. Franky had to pull it out; it was stuck in there so far. But I've got them... You-- You're gonna be OK, right? N-Nami said you're... you're gonna lose your arm.”

“Yeah.” His throat tried to close off and it came out as a whimper. “I'm... Yeah.”

“Franky said it's not so bad... he's lost both arms and legs... and a bunch of other stuff. He said he'd make you a cyborg arm, but you-- you've gotta hang in there OK. Don't-- Don't die, OK? I don't know what we'd do without you.”

In the background he heard Luffy's distressed voice calling his name, sobbing. “Please don't die! I need you! I don't care if I gotta give you both my arms, just don't die!”

Sanji crouched beside him. Looped his belt around Zoro's middle and above his right elbow, pinning it to his waist. His eyes were red rimmed. “I need Chopper back... I'm sorry, but.”

Zoro nodded, tilted his head and let the cook take the snail, then ducked his chin and stuck Kamitsuki's sheathe between his teeth. “I'm ready.”

Sanji nodded, took a few deep breaths and splashed his hands with the mouthwash, rubbing, then rinsing again. “Chopper? What do I do?” His lips compressed and he shuffled forward, straddling Zoro's lap again to keep his legs pinned. “Lean back, Moss. Look at the sky.”

He felt the first cut. Not pain, but a release of pressure. Smelled the blood and infection pour out. It felt like a clean cut, so he was glad there was that at least. Sanji had done well sharpening the blade. He focused on the smoke billowing above, the vague dark shapes it made against the clouds. Shuddered because his hip and thigh were starting to feel cold, wet. He pushed the reality of it away, thoughts of what was happening shoved down. The second cut was sharp. A sting deep-- deep near the bone, dragging completely around. His breath hitched, but he forced himself through it. Inhale, exhale. Ignore the scent of gore on the air. Ignore how Sanji was sniffling.

“Okay... I-I found the –uh-- the arteries... Yeah. It's just really slippery.” Sanji was crying. His voice uneven, breaking. “Okay... Twice? Why do I tie them off twice?” He wiped his nose on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, that makes sense.”

Water splashed and Sanji leaned closer. His hands brushed above the tourniquet.

Zoro let his eyes close, shapes playing across his lids like the reflections of water on the ceiling of his bunk.

“O-okay, d-do I tie off a-all of them f-first?” Sanji shuddered. “J-just the big ones? An-and cauterize the rest?”

“You stutter now?” Zoro whispered, a low breathless slur around the sheathe in his mouth. When he opened his eyes again the world was brighter, out of focus. “Since when do you stutter?”

“Sh-shut up!” He rocked back in Zoro's lap, just the top of his head and one bloody hand visible as he pressed his forearm to his brow. “Chopper, what-- what if I d-don't get it all?”

“Stuttering sloppy busboy.”

“You're not helping!” Sanji snarled, then rocked to his feet and went to the fire. “Yeah, I know he's delirious, but he's not helping!”

Zoro saw red smeared across the cook's hands, forearms and belly. Needles with lengths of blue silk threads tucked through the shoulder strap of his shirt. It-- it was a lot of blood, and Zoro's mind wandered, skimmed over the truth of what was happening and nearly crashed. He caught himself before he looked, before he saw, and turned his eyes back to the sky, the clouds and the smoke. The distant smudge of a bird flying by.

“Got a beri for the News Coo?”

“I don't give a damn about the fucking news coo!”

Sanji returned and Zoro could hear the soft pinging of hot steel. Saw Sanji's cooking knife glowing red at the tip, and the cook's hand wrapped in cloth to protect it. “Okay, Mosshead, bite down hard!”

It didn't hurt at first, not really. He heard it, that wet sizzling, smelled burning meat and then it felt like something deep in his arm exploded. Hot and cold and boiling. He screamed, teeth popping, wood crunching between his jaws. He didn't know he was fighting until he heard Sanji shouting, telling him to breathe, to hold still. Then he realized he had hold of the cook, was gripping the fabric of his slacks hard enough to rip holes in them trying to get away.

“Okay-- okay, breathe! Almost done! It's almost over.”

He couldn't breathe, suddenly drowning in tears and snot and spit. He rolled his head forward, fighting nausea and let the sheathe fall from his mouth. “Liar!” He groaned and turned his face to the sky again. “You just started!”

Sanji didn't answer, just stood and went back to the fire, shoulders shaking.

Zoro contemplated moving, fighting back and getting away, but deep in his gut he knew he couldn't. He knew if this didn't happen, if Sanji didn't finish he wouldn't make it much longer. “Sanji-- you-you're gonna have to knock me out... If you don't I'll wind up hurting you.”

“Like you could!” Sanji's voice sounded weak, strained as he fought for composure. He rubbed his face on his shoulder again, snuffed wetly. “You won't stay out even if I do... So, just give me a minute.”

“I don't have that much time.”

Sanji snuffled again, muttered something to Chopper on the other end of the call, and stared into the flames. “I think so... I think I got them all... W-what if I didn't though, what if he starts hemorrhaging when I take it off?”

Zoro tried to tune it out, turned his head to stare out at the water. The waves were gentle. Still kicking around random debris from the storm. Bits of blackened wood and wilted palm fronds.

In rings around the island there were sandbars throwing up whitecaps. Corals, volcanic rocks. He watched it, tried to let himself become numb all over because numb meant he didn't have to hear Sanji whimpering, or feel what was happening, or even think about it. He could separate himself. Become something else until it was over and he was forced to be human again.

Sanji returned, he'd rinsed the blood from his hands and he took a minute to find that sheathe and hold it up, butt it against Zoro's mouth until he took it back and bit down. Neither spoke.

This time there was pain. Intense, gnawing, soul rattling pain, and the sound of a blade against bone. Cutting, carving-- pushing tugging. Zoro's ears rang, his heart pounded in his chest, sharp, angry, mournful howling noises echoing across the clearing and disappearing into the sea.

He bucked, trying to throw the cook off, scratched and squeezed anything he could reach and finally began fighting with the belt pinning his arm down. Kicking, arching his back--

Sanji cursed loud and panicked, sobbed, lifted his right fist and brought it down on the spine of the blade.

There was an audible sharp crack and the pain spiked. Blacked out everything.

Zoro's whole body jerked with it. His center of gravity shifted drastically to the right and he choked, tottered, then collapsed against Sanji's chest gasping for air. It felt like he was sinking, melting , sliding to the right. His head hit the earth and for a moment he saw the world from the perspective of an insect. Saw blood dripping rapidly onto the grass near his face. Felt it running across his ribs and chest. Smudges of the trees and mountain, white smears in the blue of the sky.

Everything faded in and out, felt dull and indistinct, as if he were experiencing the world through miles of water. 

Sanji scrambled off of him, muttering but all Zoro could hear was that sound, sharp and heavy with a sense of utter finality. He dragged his knees toward his chest, curling inward shivering.

Sanji's voice was high pitch, broken. “Chopper, w-which one? I-I don't know anything about bones unless they're in meat! The joints? Fuck-- okay... T-the bigger one?”

Zoro's consciousness faded out for a period of time. Not quite gone, but distant, gray for a time. Pulsing. He knew the feeling well, he was losing blood. Falling into shock. Dying.  

Zoro struggled against it with all his remaining strength, dragged himself back to semi-consciousness in time to hear Sanji counting his breaths; “In-two three four-- out-two three four.”

The pain was back, deep throbbing, radiating up into his shoulder and chest. Every breath. He cracked an eye open and noticed the sun had stepped across the sky without his knowing. The fire was burning lower and Sanji was tying the boiled and dried strips of his striped shirt around and around Zoro's arm, so tightly it burned into his gut.

Sanji kept counting. His hands were shaking-- his face pale, pinched and mouth trembling. He hadn't noticed Zoro's return to consciousness because he spoke to himself in fear, his face twisted into heartbreak and terror. 

“He has to be OK... It-- He can't die like this, he's-- he's fucking Zoro. He has to be OK--” He hiccuped. “'two three four-- out-two three four.”

Zoro stared at him, felt an odd stirring in his chest. He'd seen Sanji hurt before, seen him scared and angry and annoyed, but there was something so completely broken in his face now. How wide and glassy his eyes were. He looked haunted and Zoro's gut twisted in sympathy, in guilt. 

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for either of them. It wasn't right.  

“'s it o-over?”

Sanji flinched, eyes locking on Zoro's face. He didn't say anything at first, just stared in shock mixed with relief. “Y-yeah. It-- it's over.” His hands spasmed as he finished tying off the bandages, then with a grunt, slid an arm under Zoro's right shoulder and pried him off the ground. “Come on-- You're in shock. We need to get you warm, somewhere you can lie down.”

“I thought I was lying down...” His head lolled backward, eyes rolling dizzily. He groaned, felt drunk and breathless and sick.

“Easy-- Deep breaths.” Sanji caught his head, tilted it forward into his shoulder and held him there. “Deep breaths.”

He fought for each one, right hand shaking as he clawed at the back of Sanji's tank top, finding an anchor in gripping it while his head swam. “You're really warm.”

“Think you can stand?”

“No.”

“Okay, take your time.”

“Where--” His mouth felt dry; “Where is it? W-what did you do with it?”

Sanji hesitated. “It's over there... I didn't know what you w-wanted me to do with it... Chopper said to-to burn it.”

Zoro groaned. “I don't wanna come out here in a few days and see my charred bones in the fire.”

“Okay.” Sanji petted a hand over the swordsman's head, reassuring himself he was still alive.

Zoro shivered. “It's really gone, huh.”

Sanji's voice cracked; “Yeah.” It hurt to speak.

“I-I think I'm gonna be sick.” He wasn't, but not for his body's lack of trying. He was too dehydrated and nothing would come up, just agonizing spasms and heaves and Sanji's arms around him, keeping him upright.

“You need to lie down.”

“Then let me lie down.”

“Not here.” Sanji shuddered. “Not-- please not here.”

Zoro sighed, exhaustion heavy in his voice; “Okay.”

“Keep your eyes shut, you don't need to see this.”

Zoro wondered absently if maybe he did need to see. Needed to solidify it in his mind. As Sanji shifted his legs and steadied him, taking more of his weight than either wanted to admit as he strained and forced himself off the ground.

“Okay, breather, then round two!” Sanji kept one hand on his waist, the other on his back, hugging him close.

A break, sitting on the crate he'd been braced against for hours. He felt heavy and off kilter, dizzy, but his eyes slid as if magnetized to the left. Blood staining the grass, his ruined shirt covering something... something.

Oh, God. 

“Alright, one last push.” Sanji gripped the waistband of his trousers and pulled prying him upward off the crate and to his feet. They swayed dangerously, like drunken dance partners and Sanji ducked under Zoro's right arm, held him close as the swordsman's head dropped forward, eyes sliding shut. He wasn't unconscious, thankfully, shuffled forward but he was focusing on something internal, so Sanji didn't bother him.

It took much longer to stagger across the clearing than it should have. Sanji pulling him along as his bare feet dragged weakly in the grass, as if the ground was trying to swallow him up just for spite.

The cot was firm and uncomfortable, but the blankets were there and as he dropped onto it Sanji already had them in hand, swinging them across his chest and supporting his head as he slowly collapsed.

The next moment it was dark, and the stove Sanji had dragged in took up most of the free space. There was a fire going in it, warming their shelter, but Zoro barely felt it, his whole body felt like he was freezing from the inside out.

Sanji was sitting there, leaned back against the cot with his head in his hands, weeping.

Zoro tried to speak but there weren't words. What could he say? What could he do now that it was over? Instead he moaned, the world losing focus once more, and then there was nothing.

***

Chapter Text

***

The snail didn't connect for two days. Too exhausted. She tried, strained herself, but her eye stalks were limp, her sticky flesh pale.

Sanji went a little mad. He fed her fruit, and yarrow leaves, picked flowers and braided them into a tiny crown he tried to put on her little head. He paced a divot in the sand around the entire island, waded out to the rocky cape and climbed the tallest stack, staring out helplessly, praying for anything, anyone to notice him, to see.

Zoro didn't wake up. Not for tea, not for the smell of food, or the promise of booze. Not even threats or insults roused him.

The first evening After, he was deathly still, barely breathing. All that night Sanji sat by the bed hugging himself and staring at the blood seeping through the bandages. By morning Zoro was shivering. That evening his fever had returned, spiked to dangerous levels and Sanji spent the second night awake keeping his brow cool and staring at the dip in the blankets where the swordsman's left arm had been.

The wound-- Sanji couldn't bring himself to call it an incision-- was puffy, irritated, but there was no sickly sweet, almondy smell as there had been. The strip of cloth Chopper had instructed him to pack the wound with as a drain before roughly suturing it closed was sticky where it peeked out between stitches, but there were no obvious signs of the previous contamination.

The bruising was horrifying. A band high around his upper bicep the color of plums, and more low beneath the stitching. Sanji's stomach roiled wondering if those awful bloody blisters would return.

Zoro muttered and winced, made low animal noises of pain when he reapplied fresh bandages, but he didn't wake. He didn't wake.

Sanji made strong tea with the yarrow, but after that first night, Zoro couldn't keep anything down. Not water, not tea, not drops of fruit juice between his lips. It all came back up thick with bright yellow bile.

He hadn't peed since the morning of the... Since Before when Sanji had gripped the back of his trousers to steady him so he didn't fall down. He'd worried at how dark, and greenish it had looked. Now that worry had blossomed into terror. 

“Come on,” Sanji hummed, “Stop being a stubborn jackass for once in your life!” He propped up the other man's head against his shoulder and tipped a bit of tea into his mouth.

Zoro just pushed it out again with his tongue, whimpered, coughed wetly, and went still.

So, Sanji stoked the little fire in the stove, and shuffled out of the shelter, found the snail where he'd left her basking in a little palace of sticks and artistically placed flower blossoms. She lifted her eyes and strained when she saw him. Made raspy little buzzing noises as she tried to connect. He sighed, heartsick and aching for a voice, for help. For his family-- and carefully plucked her up, set her in his ear and started walking. Another trip around the Island to clear his head, to try and convince himself that everything was going to be OK and Zoro wasn't dying slowly of blood loss and kidney failure.

“I don't know how much longer we can hold out.” He spoke mostly to himself, but the hermit crabs scuttling along the shore seemed to be attentive as well. “He hasn't woken up since-- I think he's dying... When he was comatose after the Thriller Bark thing his body still functioned, he swallowed water, and broth. He pissed himself once or twice... but now he—he's so still and I don't know what to do. I-I did that to him.” He wiped a hand over his eyes. “I can still feel it-- see it when I close my eyes!” He bit back a sob; “I've never hurt someone with my hands before... not like that. What-what if I killed him?”

“Sanji, you have to breathe.”

The voice was barely a whisper in his ear. He hadn't even heard the snail connect.

“Nami?”

“We found the smoke... I can't see the island yet, but we're on your smoke trail.”

His head lifted, scanned the sky and the long tail of smoke disappearing toward the horizon. He put a hand to his brow. “H-how long?”

“If the wind holds, we should be there by mid-afternoon tomorrow. Chopper and Franky are raiding your kitchen trying to make some kind of soda water to see if we can get a few miles ahead, but... We're coming, Sanji, I promise we're coming.”

Sanji's heart ached; “What do I do? He-he's so still. W-what if he dies? What do I do if he dies?”

Nami took a slow, shuddering breath. “You keep going.”

“But I did it-- I hurt him--”

“It's not your fault. None of this is your fault! You—you went against everything you believe in to try and save him. If he doesn't make it, it isn't your fault.” She's crying, if he plugs his other ear he can hear it in her voice. That wet sniffle. “I'm just so sorry this happened. I hate it so much!”

Sanji covered his face, images of Zeff and Zoro transposing one another in his mind. The feeling of cutting through living flesh. He moaned, bent forward with his hands on his knees and retched. Fought with himself not to make noise and upset Nami even more, but his mind was circling. All the blood, dripping and coating his hands, the dark dying color of severed muscle fibers, the way it had looked as the cuts had met bone, pulling back like canyons.

“I've never heard him scream like that before.”

“Are you OK?”

“No... Not at all.”

“What can I do?”

“Just talk... I don't want to be alone.”

“Okay... Uhm-- Luffy isn't eating. He's worried about you two. Robin made him eat last night, but he cried the whole time... Uhm-- Did I tell you before? Apparently Franky can cook. It's all really greasy and smothered in cheese and onions, but we haven't been hungry. We're all safe and I can't wait until you get back because I can't stand one more nasty half burned cheese burger.”

“Tell him I said he best not have fucked up my kitchen. I'll pour out all of his cola if he has.”

“Usopp has been cleaning up after him, so it's not too bad. God, Sanji, it's just so nice to hear your voice again. We thought the worst, but we found the smoke trail so we knew we were headed in the right direction.”

“Tell me again that you're coming?”

“We're coming. I promise, Sanji, we're coming. We're not going to leave you guys. It's just hours now. Just hours. You only have to make it a few more hours!”

He fought with himself, teeth clenched scratching at the springy overgrown hairs on his cheeks, chin and upper lip. “I can't sleep. I-I keep seeing it. I keep remembering that f-fucking rock. Sitting there starving to death and watching ships pass in the distance, and the Old Man's face-- his leg-- and I keep thinking it's happening again. It's happening again and we're not going to make it this time. We're not going to make it and I'm going to die alone knowing I killed Luffy's first mate--”

“Sanji-- I'm right here. You're not alone. We're almost there, I promise. Breathe. Just breathe.”

“I'm so scared--” He squeezed himself, tried to pretend it was someone else. 

“When we get there, I'm going to be the first person on that island, OK? I-I'm going to give you the biggest damned hug you've ever had... Then Luffy will give you a bigger one, because he's rubber and competitive like that.”

“Is he there?”

“He's on top of the Crow's Nest. Franky made him a 'Super Spyglass', so he's been up there scanning the horizon pretty much every day since.” She sighed. “I don't know if it actually works, or if Franky knew he just needed to feel like he was doing something , but if it works better than my binoculars he'll be the first to spot you.”

“Is Chopper there? Is he OK?”

“Are you growing bored with my company?” She teased, sniffling again. “He's sleeping. He's stayed up late preparing the infirmary. He's anxious-- Robin tried to introduce him to coffee but it made him really paranoid that you hadn't answered any calls. He was convinced it was because the island blew up and you were both dead.”

“Well, it is volcanic, so anything is possible.” He wiped his eyes and glanced up, realizing he'd almost made another complete trip around the island. “I should get back to him and let the snail rest. She's pushed herself above and beyond.”

“Yeah.” Nami sounded disappointed. “Just-- call back if anything changes. Anything at all... and I'll call you as soon as we spot you on the horizon.”

“I will.”

“Sanji?”

“Yes?”

“Eat something.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Please. Right now, I want to hear you do it.”

“I'm not hungry--”

“I know you, I know how you get when you're upset. You punish yourself for nothing, you starve yourself-- and don't deny it. Go-- Go find something and eat it. For me.”

He shook, was a little afraid his legs were going to give out.

“Do it or I'll never talk to you again!” It was a harsh threat, torture in his eyes.

He whimpered, turned and trudged inland. The first thing he found was a stunted patch of berry bushes. Blueberries by the look of them. Just going out of season, most were wrinkled and sunburned, but still edible. He plucked a few and popped them hesitantly between his lips. Chewed and swallowed, then did it again. Slowly, without really realizing it, he felt his stomach rumble and became aware of how badly he was shaking, ravenous. The next instant he was on the ground sobbing, arms over his head-- overwhelmed and barely able to keep his breath.

“It's OK, Sanji it's going to be OK.”

He didn't know how, it didn't feel like anything was ever going to be OK again. He couldn't stop crying, he could barely move, and he was so tired he couldn't see straight. Yet, every time he closed his eyes he saw it replay beneath his lids in full color. Felt every drop of fear and self-disgust flood him once more.

The little snail wheezed and whined in his ear, fighting to hold the connection.

“Sanji I promise--”

And she lost it. Murmuring sadly and retreating into her shell, dropping from Sanji's ear to the grass beneath him.

The world seemed to close in on him. Too big and empty and soundless. He laid there long enough for the renewed sense of his own hunger to become painful then rolled to his hands and knees, carefully picked up the snail and carried her back to camp.

Zoro hadn't moved, maybe he'd turned his head, shifted his feet under the blankets, but there was nothing significant to show he was improving, or declining.

“I never thought I'd miss your complaining.” Sanji said, standing over the cot. “Or having to follow you around because you can't be trusted to follow simple directions.” He wiped his nose on his wrist.

A breeze rattled the fronds on the roof and the bit of tattered sail.

“Nami said they'll be here tomorrow. So-- so you can't leave me, it's just one more day. It would be pathetic if you survived all this time just to die in the last twenty-four hours... You're just-- you're just faking anyway. You'll be fine.” He whimpered; “Please, wake up.”

Please don't leave me alone.

***

Chapter Text

***

There was a dot on the horizon when dawn broke over the island. A little smudge that didn't disappear when Sanji ran to the beach and rubbed his eyes. It wasn't a hallucination from three days without sleep. Wasn't exhaustion and the dry, gritty feeling of his eyes, or the hunger still eating him alive inside.

There was a ship.

The snail was asleep, too exhausted to do anything more than blow little sleep bubbles and snore quietly amid her bed of silk cut from the inside of Sanji's jacket. So, Sanji stood there and stared. Watched the smudge grow as the sun climbed into the sky.

He didn't believe it, not really, some irrational part of his mind told him to run and hide, that there would be fury and pain for what he had dared to do to Zoro, but his legs shook too badly to move. Slowly, over the course of two hours, the little indistinct blob took shape.

Sun, glinting off sails and shining rivets. The gold of Sunny's face, little barely perceptible movements of the crew waving excitedly from the bow.

Sanji started pacing, six steps to the left, six to the right, back and forth in growing unease. What if they didn't see the deadly corals and rocks in the shallow waters? What if the Marines appeared at that exact moment from the opposite side of the island and bombarded them all with cannon fire? What if, at that moment Zoro was breathing his last back in that shitty little lean-to? What if he had fought and struggled for fourteen days only to die at the last minute?

Sanji's heart was beating too quickly, palms sweaty, breath jerking in and out of his still aching chest.

The Sunny turned, far enough out that Sanji couldn't hear any sounds beyond the rasp of the sea on the shore and the breeze rattling the trees, or the crackle of the bonfire behind him.

He saw the belly dock rotating, the door lifting slowly, the splash of the anchors into the water. Then the Mini-Merry jetted out of the docking bay. It was like a dream. Unreal looking, and Sanji took a few steps backward to resume his pacing, afraid that his eyes were playing tricks on him.

The Mini-Merry zig-zagged her way across the water, dodging rocks and coral. Sanji could see the flaming orange of Nami's hair at the helm, and Chopper's hat where he clung to the navigator's leg.

He could hear the putter of the Mini's engine, and a shrill voice calling; “SANJI!”

His knees hit the sand, hands shaking, and suddenly he was a child again, watching a row boat bob slowly across the waves toward him. Not trusting his own eyes, or the hope in his heart because it had been dashed and trampled by so many for such a torturous time.

Nami ran the Mini-Merry ashore with such force mud kicked up against the little boat's keel. She launched herself onto the beach and ran at him, tears in her eyes. Skidding in the sand on her knees and wrapping her arms so tightly around him it choked all air from his lungs.

He sobbed. Silent, and uncontrollable, collapsing into her arms as if his strings had been cut.

Her fingers dug into his hair and the tattered back of his shirt. “You're so sunburned! Are you alright? Where's Zoro?”

Chopper shifted into his larger form and dragged a bulging pack from the Mini, running over with wide eyes. “Where?”

Sanji's arm lifted, shaking, and he pointed toward the little lean-to at the end of the clearing.

“Is he alive?” Chopper's chest was heaving.

Sanji nodded, unable to speak, and the doctor was off at a sprint.

Nami didn't move. Stayed there squeezing him and rocking gently to and fro. “It's OK, you're OK, we're here now! It's over. You did it!”

A flurry of flower petals erupted from behind him and one of Robin's copies manifested. It was easy to tell, for those who knew her, when she was employing a copy. Her skin was always a little too pink, a blush like sakura blossoms.

“How can I help?” The Robin Copy said.

“Chopper... go help Chopper, over there.” Nami jerked her chin toward the clearing.

Sanji didn't move, couldn't. Too overwhelmed by the crushing pressure of Nami's arms around his crackling chest. The smell of her hair and perfume the sound of her voice and heat of her breath against his face. Panicked kisses to his hair and the blistered burns on his brow. "It's OK! It's OK! We're here! I've got you!"

He choked, words spilling out without his permission, begging her to hold him tighter because if it hurt it had to be real. His breathing stuttered, wheezed helplessly, scratching in his parched throat.

"Sanji? Sanji, stay with me!"

He slumped lifeless against Nami's shoulder, exhaustion sweeping over him like a tsunami. One minute he could hear her voice calling him frantically, but so distantly. Then everything went black.

The next thing he knew he was struggling to consciousness in semi-darkness, lying on his stomach with the dim glow of a corner lamp casting eerie shadows around him. Soft blue lighting from within the aquarium glistening like fairy trails across the sofa and floor. 

It was a shock, to miss so much time without warning and he tried to sit up, heart pounding. Zoro! What had happened to Zoro! He pushed against the upholstery beneath him but a sudden flare of agony overtook him and he collapsed back again on his face.

Sanji had been sunburned before. He was tragically pale skinned and burned easily, this however, felt like he'd been braised. Like his skin was going to crack open and peel off like a roast duck. He took a slow deep breath and carefully pulled his arms up onto the cushion beside his face. 

There was an IV line in his forearm, saline and glucose if the writing on the bottle hooked on the coat rack at his side was to be trusted. And his shirt was gone. Naked from the waist up. Even his trousers weren't his own. Too loose and thin. Too pink. 

Oh God's, he was wearing a pair of Nami's pajama pants. 

Any other day he would be ecstatic, now he felt nauseated. Someone had undressed him. Bathed him if the lack of odor from beneath his arms was an indicator. And they'd coated him on something gooey, the consistency of egg whites with an herbal smell that seemed to be sucking the heat out of his burns and leaving him chilled and hollow inside. 

What the hell. 

"Sanji?" Usopp's face swam into view above him in the dim light. “Are you okay?”

Sanji's mouth felt like it was full of dust and cobwebs. His mind wasn't much better, aching behind his eyes like something was broken, only able to peripherally grasp concepts more complex than breathing and staring at the world around him like he'd never seen it before. “Merde.”

Usopp nodded, even if he did not understand. “You've been asleep all day. Nami told me to check on you and bring you something to eat.”

Sanji blinked slowly, brain stalling and unable to accept that this was real. He wasn't on the island anymore, he was lying on a sofa in the lounge. His skin felt sticky and smelled of aloe gel and all his muscles and every hair follicle screamed in protest of his return to consciousness.

“Chopper said you're flirting with sun poisoning, so he wants you to rest." Usopp helped him to sit up, then took his hand gently and placed a bowl in it. “It's not much, but at least it's not Franky's Grease Feast.”

Sanji couldn't manage chopsticks, his hands shook too badly. He whined, staring at the grains of rice spilled onto his lap, and plucked them up with numb fingers. 

"Here," Usopp produced a spoon from one of his pockets. It wasn't one of the ones Sanji had in the kitchen. More plain, a round deep soup spoon. 

Sanji stared at him gratefully and took it. 

Then Uaopp did something unexpected. “You look like shit.”

Sanji scowled, cheeks pooched out like a chipmunk. 

“I mean, I totally missed you, but you really-- really look like shit, and you don't smell much better, even after they wiped you down."

“You are such a comfort after all that trauma, Usopp, my woes are melted, my cares lifted--” Sanji began angrily shoveling rice into his mouth. “It's not my fault I was stranded on a deserted island for the last two weeks with a dying man and no access to a shaver or antiperspirant!” His voice cracked, bloody memories flashing in the back of his mind. He whimpered, bowed his head to his chest. "It's n-not my fault."

“You're right... it's not your fault.”

Sanji choked, covered his face with one shaking hand and fought to breathe past an unnatural tightness in his throat. 

Usopp's expression was completely innocent. “None of it was your fault.”

“You devious little shit.” He lifted his head and stared at the sniper. Felt more grateful for his presence than he had words to articulate. He coughed, and his stomach growled menacingly, so he tried to suffocate it with more rice.

Usopp pushed to his feet and collected a pitcher of water from one of the tea tables. “You know me, lighthearted, lovable soul of the crew.”

“Lighthearted my arse.” Sanji scrubbed his wrist over his eyes, took the pitcher and drank from it directly. Deep greedy swallows. “You're a menace. You and Luffy... Where is he by the way? Waist deep in my fridge?”

“Everyone's waiting to hear from Chopper... He had to do another operation, 'revision' he called it.”

Sanji nodded, scraped every grain of rice from the bottom of his bowl. “He mentioned that. There wasn't a way to create a sterile area on that island. 'said he'd have to re-do it no matter what.”

Usopp nodded.

"H-how was he, when... When they brought him in?" 

Usopp hesitated, pulled his legs up onto the sofa and wrapped his arms around them. "It-it was kind of scary? He looked awful. You both did. Chopper took him right into the infirmary, so other than that I only know what Robin has been telling us. But, he's really sick. You had us scared the most though. We were expecting Zoro to be in bad shape, but you--" He shook his head. "I thought you'd had a heart attack from what Nami said."

Sanji stared down into his empty bowl, felt deeply guilty for causing such a fuss. "I'm fine. Just-- it was a lot."

"Yeah. I can imagine." He took a deep breath and let it out, rubbed his neck and forced a smile. "But, enough of the sad talk. You're home, that's what matters!" 

"Yeah."

“You should be proud. I took care of the meals while you were gone! Everyone loved it!”

Sanji cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe not everyone... And Luffy did get food poisoning.”

“You are never allowed near my kitchen again.”

“That's totally fair.”

Sanji had almost finished the water pitcher when he noticed Luffy's face peeking around the base of the door. Eyes wide. He looked like a disembodied head floating a few inches above the floor, some shadow eyed eldritch monstrosity with his captain's face.

“What is it?” Usopp turned. 

It took him exactly two seconds to notice, then he screeched in terror and clambered over the sofa.

Luffy gasped and disappeared, banging his head on the door and scrambling backward across the deck.

“You little creep! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Usopp shouted, clutching his chest. "Are you trying to scare us to death!" 

“Sorry!” Luffy whimpered from outside the door. “I just-- I heard you talking and thought maybe Sanji had woken up.”

“You could have knocked, like a civilized person!”

"Franky’s looking for you. He needs some help with some wiring."

"Fine." Usopp sighed, climbed off the back of the sofa and stomped to the door. He pushed at Luffy's head then paused long enough to peer back at Sanji. "I'm really glad you're back. We missed you... And not just for your cooking." 

Sanji couldn't meet his eyes, ached in his chest at the thought that he was back, he was home. The ordeal wasn't entirely over, but he wasn't alone anymore. If the worst happened, he wouldn't be alone with this weird hollow yearning feeling. This ache that had started he didn't exactly know when, but that he was finally able to put a fragment of a name to only four days ago, with a bloody tanto in his hands and the man who would be the world's greatest swordsman lying in pieces before him.

Luffy crawled back to the doorway and peered in, rubbing a reddened spot on his temple. “Sanji, are you awake?”

“Yes.” Was that shaking whimper his voice? 

“Are you OK?”

No, but he didn't want to have that conversation right now. He wanted-- he wanted to escape, fall back into the familiar and try to forget everything that had happened over the last fourteen days. “Yeah, I'm OK.”

“You look really red... Like a lobster.”

“I'll live.” He couldn't meet Luffy's eyes.

“Robin said I'm not supposed to bother you.”

Sanji snorted, did inciting disturbing images of floating severed heads not count as bothering? “What do you want? I-I can't really make you anything to eat right now, I--”

“I'm not hungry.”

Sanji felt a lump growing in his throat. Luffy not hungry? Something was wrong. He was angry, he had to be. “I see.”

“Sanji?”

He turned away, staring at the strands of seaweed growing at the bottom of the aquarium, clenched his teeth and tried to hold back a flood of tears. “I'm sorry... For what I did.”

Luffy said nothing.

“You must hate me.”

“That's stupid... Why would I hate you? I just want to make sure you're not hurting.”

Sanji turned and regarded the younger boy in silence, moisture leaking down his face.

“Nami said I need to leave you alone and not crowd you, because you were hurting, but I can't do that. I can't stand to see my friends hurting.” He plucked nervously at the frays on the ends of his trouser legs. “But you're not hurting because you're injured, or because someone did something to you.”

“No, I did something awful, you shouldn't be comforting me.”

“It wasn't awful... not really. It was brave, scary, and difficult." He waddled a little closer. "You told me once that you don't use your hands to hurt people, and I don't think you have. Yeah, what you did was painful, but it wasn't hurtful.” He creeped a little farther into the room, like a toad. “It's like Chopper giving us shots! It's painful, but it's to keep us safe, to protect us.”

“I stole his arm, Luffy. That's a hell of a lot worse than getting a tetanus shot.”

Luffy had nothing to say to that, eyes glazing over. “Does that make me bad too? Shanks lost his arm because of me, and I wasn't even trying to help him. I was being arrogant and picked a fight, and my friend got hurt.”

Sanji rubbed his face dry. “You're not bad.”

“Then you can't be either, because at least you were trying to help him.”

Sanji shook his head, still not convinced, so Luffy crawled closer and leaned across his lap like a cat.

“You're not bad, Sanji.”

Sanji ruffled a hand through Luffy's hair.

“It's OK to be scared. This whole thing is scary. Just don't think you're alone, we're together on this. We help each other, even if it's difficult or painful. When one of us is hurt, we all fight it, because we're stronger together.”

Sanji bowed his head. He still felt guilty, haunted by it, but deep down he knew it hadn't been his fault. That stranger had invaded their home and tried to hurt them for reasons they would never know. He and Zoro had been hurt for no fathomable reason, their lives changed for no reason. It felt like it would be easier to bear if he only knew why, was it something they'd done? Some vendetta? Even just a chance at their bounties would make sense! But it seemed to be pointless, senseless.

The uncertainty they'd been left with was almost worse. It had left room for Sanji's imagination, his self loathing, and fears to spread and overwhelm him. The fact he had been forced to be the one to carry out that final life saving act was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Luffy climbed onto the sofa and pulled Sanji against his chest, arms and legs tangling around him firmly, pinning him in place. His face smashed into the side of Sanji's head. Fingers gentle as he gripped around the edges of his sunburn. 

Luffy didn't say anything else, which was oddly relieving considering how chatty he usually was. Just sat there and held on until Sanji began to fade back into sleep. Then remained, listening to the cook breathing and feeling the solidity of him held close and safe against all the hurts of the world.

Robin found them like that hours later as she was coming to relay news that Zoro's blood pressure was improving. Luffy wasn't asleep, but looked dazed with Sanji practically on top of him, sleeping so deeply not even Robin's voice woke him.

“How is he?”

Luffy grunted instead of offering an answer and continued watching the fish and seaweed shift in the water of the aquarium.

Finding Luffy pensive was always worrying. He was typically so animated, chatting or bouncing around the ship. Swinging from the masts, laughing, playing, living. The last two weeks he had been a shadow of himself. Pacing, biting his nails, hiding and crying. Sneaking around trying to hear any activity on the transponder snail, hoping for a hint of what was happening, pleading for his friends to be OK.

When he'd overheard Chopper telling Nami that Sanji was going ahead with the amputation, Luffy had snapped. He'd screamed and begged and clawed at his own face calling for Zoro. It had taken Robin's many many arms to wrestle him away from the door and hours before they trusted him to be alone. They'd never seen him react that way. Just come apart at his seams.

Franky had cobbled together a telescope and given it to the captain with the instructions that it was super powered and he would be able to see the island before anyone else. A white lie to keep him from constant anxiety attacks. Luffy was disruptive on a good day, his bad days, they came to understand, could be catastrophic. Flapping, screaming, weeping, pounding himself on the head-- Overwhelmed and unprepared to face the fact his friend may die or be prevented from achieving his dearest dream and there was nothing Luffy could do about it. There was no one left to punish. Nothing he could fight. It simply was and he didn't exactly know how to deal with that feeling of hopelessness.

What was the point of having Devil Fruit powers if he couldn't keep his best friends safe from one stupid man with a gun?

It wasn't even an issue of not being strong enough, it had just been chance and a terrible storm at sea. Unfortunate, and unstoppable.

Robin wished that man was still around so she could snap his neck all over again.

“Zoro is resting, Chopper said it will be at least twenty-four hours before he knows if the medicines are working, but his blood pressure improving is a very good sign.”

Luffy's chin quivered and he pulled his hat back onto his head, shielding his face. “Thanks.”

“If you need to talk, Luffy, please come find me.”

He didn't reply, but the hand on Sanji's shoulder seemed more relaxed, so Robin left and shut the door behind her.

***

***

Chapter Text

***

Zoro slept for four days before he showed even a sign that he was capable of returning to consciousness. During those four days Chopper spent almost every waking moment at his side, monitoring his blood pressure and pulse. Running tests and peering into his microscope. 

The tests the little doctor had performed indicated that Zoro had been suffering acute renal failure from the toxins in his system. His kidneys were struggling, and it had taken almost thirty-six hours of intravenous fluids and antibiotics for his body to begin flushing them out. Luffy had insisted on being the first to visit him, and been horrified, coming in excitedly only to find the urine collection bag hanging on the underside of the bed partially filled with green. He'd screamed; “It's not supposed to be that color! Why is-- why is it that color! Is he dying?! I thought you said he was getting better!”

Chopper hadn't been able to explain it all, blood gasses, bile, bilirubin, glucose levels and the like, but he'd pulled Luffy out into the hallway and into a hug, then explained enough that he hadn't been so terrified.

“Gangrene is a really serious infection, as the bacteria grows it releases toxins into the blood. If your kidneys get overwhelmed by the toxins they start shutting down, which turns your urine green. It's not surprising that he was that sick. He's improving, but he's still very, very sick.”

Luffy nodded, wiping snot up his arm. “T-that makes sense... Gangrene has the word 'green' in it, so it-- it makes your pee green.”

Chopper didn't have the patience to explain it again, so he'd just rubbed the tension in his forehead and went back to measuring out more medicine to fill another bag of saline.

Luffy scooted closer to the bed on his knees and laid his head on Zoro's chest, eyes locked on the bandages and the abrupt end where the swordsman's left arm should have been. 

For a long time all he did was stare at it, pale and barely breathing. Then, Luffy lifted a shaking hand and reached for it--

Chopper snarled; “Don't touch him! You'll make it worse!”

Luffy sprang backward with a whimper and ran. He didn't come back. The next day, when it was his turn to visit, he just smiled brightly and looked away, hands squeezed so tightly together his bones stretched. “Zoro needs his sleep. I'll wait.” 

Those first four days for Sanji, however, were much different. He slept for the first twenty-four hours back on the ship, then woke and started moving around frantically, acting as if nothing had happened.

He bathed, shaved, combed his hair, prepared a luxurious breakfast, compulsively washed all his pots, pans, knives, spoons, spatulas, colanders, steaming baskets-- he scoured his stove, counter tops, and a cast iron pot he'd found on the island, then meticulously re-seasoned it. He got on his hands and knees and scrubbed the floor with a stiff bristled brush, getting every corner and edge and the grout between the tiles. Wash, Rinse, Sanitize, Repeat.

Fanky watched it all, his concern growing as Sanji crouched in front of his oven and watched the little pot heating and beginning to smoke, rocking back and forth gripping his ankles.

“Hey, man. You need to take it easy.” The cyborg squatted beside the cook hugging his knees. “You've been through a lot.”

“I'm fine.”

“I don't think you are though. You're shakin', and I saw you taking clean dishes out of the cabinets just to wash them again.” He put a hand gingerly on Sanji's lower back, worried that he could feel heat through the fabric of his suit. “You need to take a break... Why don't you have a seat and I'll make some coffee.”

“That's my job–”

“No, right now your job is to sit down and breathe. You guys went through hell, man. Nobody is expecting you to be OK right off the bat. Give yourself time to heal. If you don't, you're gonna break.”

“I'm fine.”

“Sanji,” Franky touched his elbow, forced the blonde to meet his eyes. “You're not, but that's OK. Let me help, alright?”

Sanji's shaking intensified and he nodded jerkily, body swaying as he pushed to his feet and stumbled to the table.

Franky kept an eye on the cook as he prepared the coffee and fetched some of the desert he'd made the night before while Sanji slept. It was green and fluffy and the Franky Fam had loved it back on Water Seven. A late night treat with a glass of beer.

Sanji looked at it, then looked at Franky... then back to the scoop of mottled green on his plate. “What is this?”

“Shut the Fuck Up Cake!” Franky said grinning, so proud of himself. “It's so good it'll make anyone shut up! OH! I almost forgot the best part!” He turned and dashed to the fridge, came back grinning and dropped a single stemmed cherry on top of it.

Sanji looked like he might vomit. “This... is a cake?”

“Just try it!”

It was green... and not even an appetizing green. It wasn't mint green, or pastel. It was about the color of rancid olives with smears of white, chunks of yellow, and what looked like messily chopped nuts and grit mixed in. He wasn't sure he could do it. Like, honestly and truly wasn't sure he could survive intentionally putting that in his mouth. His insides were already in an uproar, this might just be the very thing to end him. 

“Seriously, just try it! You'll love it.”

Sanji leaned forward and wafted the scent toward his nose warily, then conspiratorially turned his eyes to Franky; “Is this fucking Garden Gate Salad?”

“Wha's 'at?” Franky had a heaping bowl of his own and was shoveling it into his mouth with a tiny spoon.

“Pistachio pudding, pineapple, lime--”

Franky beamed. “Yeah! Tom called it salad once!”

Sanji rubbed tiredly at his brow. “Did you just put everything into the food processor until it was... that consistency?”

“Yeah, so?”

“This isn't how you make Garden Gate Salad.” Sanji ate it, because he wasn't going to waste food and now that he knew what it was he wasn't as terrified by it, off-putting as the color may be. The flavor was a little tangy, a little salty, and there was too much marshmallow. Franky had also used mayonnaise, where Sanji never would have considered it. “Okay,” He took the empty plate to the sink and quickly washed it, then eyed what was left in the fucking bucket in the refrigerator. He'd thought it was soup when he'd spied it earlier. There wasn't much left, thankfully. “Will you let me show you how to do it properly?”

“As long as you don't put any raisins in it. Iceburg would always insist there be raisins in it and it throws off the flavor profile.” He held up his bowl and started licking it clean.

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

He made it as far as opening a can of pineapple slices saying that canned pineapples were superior for this purpose as they weren't as acidic and wouldn't curdle the cream. But then his vision began to fuzz out at the edges, and his stomach made an awful, beastly growling noise.

“Damn, was that you?” Franky giggled. “That's crazy! You must be starving!”

Sanji's head tilted back, eyes wide, mouth open, struggling to breathe, and then his knees gave out.

The only reason he didn't hit the floor was because Franky sidestepped into him and pinned him against the counter top with a hip.

“Holy shit!” He caught Sanji around the chest and pried him up, a little horrified when the cook's head flopped back limp against his chest. “Okay, this-- ROBIN!” He leaned over the cook's face and could hear quick, shallow little sips of air but he was otherwise unresponsive. “ROBIN! I need help!”

The archaeologist appeared a few moments later at a quick pace, brows pulled down; “What's wrong?” She spotted the problem immediately.

Sanji hanging limply against Franky's chest, a half open can of sliced pineapple spilled across the counter.

“What happened?” She sprouted arms from the cabinets and gripped Sanji's thighs, more from the uppers slipped under his arms and took his weight so Franky could step backward and get a better grip on him.

“I don't know, he just dropped.” One big arm behind Sanji's knees, the other beneath his shoulders and he scooped the cook up. “I gave him some Shut Up Cake and he was showing me how to make a fancy version and suddenly he was just-- just out.”

“He hasn't been eating, has he.”

Franky shook his head. “He was looking a little shaky before, but after he ate something he looked better... then this happened.”

They were halfway to the infirmary when Sanji started to rouse. A whine and his face scrunched in confusion, eyes opening to slits as he peered out at the world as if through a fog.

“Cook-san, how do you feel?” Robin put a hand to his brow.

“'m fine, Robin, my dear... 'm juuuusss fine,'' He flipped his hand at her as if trying to wave off her worry, but his whole arm just flopped, dangling in the air.

“Oh, well, if you're sure.”

He made a few sing-song noises and his eyes fell closed again.

Sanji spent the next thirty-six hours lying on his stomach in bed getting fluids. His upper half was so badly sunburned it had blistered and radiated heat as if he were fevered. Add to it his abysmal selfcare techniques when stressed, Chopper was considering the risks of talking to him about eating disorders. Instead he insisted the cook leave his shirts off, stay out of the sun, and allow himself to be slathered in aloe gel every few hours. 

Sanji didn't argue. It was too painful to even put on another tank top or bend to tie his shoes. 

“Nobody is going to mind you taking measures to be comfortable. You don't deserve to be in pain just to maintain a misplaced sense of modesty.”

“It's not fair to the girls–”

“They agree with me! Your health is more important, and those burns need to be taken care of!”

It didn't mean he was happy about it. 

Robin, though, handled the food conversation better than Chopper, or even Nami could have. 

She brought Sanji food. Silent, with an intense look in her eyes. It wasn't much, lumpy rice porridge, a sandwich with the crusts messily cut off. Sliced fruit. More of Franky's Shut Up Cake/Salad. Her fingers were still stained pink with dragon fruit juice. 

“I made you lunch.”

Sanji wept silently. Ate because just that disappointed, saddened look in her eyes was more painful than any guilt he felt. 

Robin caught his hand every time she arrived to collect an empty tray and squeezed his fingers. Stared into his eyes encouragingly, and smiled. And what he wouldn't do for those smiles. He'd take on the world to make her smile. 

After he was permitted to leave his bunk, Sanji even finished showing Franky how to 'properly' make Garden Gate Salad, as well as another version with chopped apples, raisins, toasted pecans and candied ginger. Franky was not, however, convinced that raisins belonged in anything.

Three times a day Chopper, or Nami, slathered him in aloe and at night he soaked in cool water in the bathroom. After four days the sunburn began to peel. The color becoming more brown and less red every day. Surprisingly, the less burned skin at its edges began to reveal a plethora of little freckles, hinting at what lay under the uncomfortable redness still present across his shoulders, chest, and although he denied them being present on his face, they were. A fine spray of them across his cheeks, nose and brow.

Chopper made him take it easy, and made him swear to only cook lunch and dinner with help from Franky, Robin, or Nami, until he had regained the weight he'd lost and was no longer dehydrated. Breakfast could be handled by each individual, even if it bruised his pride to allow it. 

Sanji did not like taking care of himself, especially when he knew Zoro was in worse shape than he was. Especially when he was so vehemently fighting with a sense of guilt and self-hatred because of what he'd done.

Chopper had caught him standing in the kitchen while the little transponder snail munched a piece of kale, staring at one of his knives with a look of thinly veiled disgust just that morning.

He did better with company, so they all took turns being close by. Maybe not right beside him, but within sight, and that seemed like enough. 

It wasn't long after lunch on the fifth day that Nami convinced Sanji to go to the infirmary with her to sit with Zoro. Sanji had been avoiding the infirmary for the most part, and flinched whenever the swordsman was mentioned, as if he were being hit. 

It felt like being dragged to the gallows, in Sanji's opinion. Forcing him to face the crime he'd perpetrated against Zoro. 

The Swordsman looked terrible. Too still, too thin and wasted by illness. His hair was wet with sweat and clinging to his temples. The overgrown coarse whiskers on his jaws and chin seemed out of place, lending an aged, alien quality to his countenance. He didn't look like himself. Wrong and pale and sick with heavy dark shadows around his eyes and parched lips. 

Zoro wasn't supposed to look like this. Wasn't supposed to be vulnerable like this. Unconscious and unable to wake from the severity of his wounds. 

Sanji was afraid to look at him. A soul deep kind of fear. But, at the same time he couldn’t help but stare at him. How similar he looked to that first night. 

Boneless and fragile, all his immeasurable strength gone. 

The memory was fresh, still crimson and tinged in firelight in his mind. How each breath had been a struggle, jagged little whines any time Sanji had wiped his face. 

And in his head Sanji had prayed. Don't die. Please don't die, I need you. 

Even now, those words echoed in the back of his mind. But, now, he had time to think about them. Obsess over what they could mean. 

Sanji had seen him injured badly and on the verge of death before. Thriller Bark had been an eye opener, but this was something different. As much as Chopper had claimed he was lucky to be alive back then, Sanji had never felt this gut deep hopelessness before. He hadn't really felt that Zoro could die until that damned Island. Until he'd been faced with it, seen it happening. Had blood literally on his hands. 

Right now, lying there in the Sunny’s infirmary, Zoro LOOKED like he was barely alive. Each breath crackled and little shivers rattled him the way the wind sometimes rattled Brook’s bones. 

Sanji sat there with his hands clasped between his knees, staring. Unsure what to do with himself. Unsure what the fuck was brewing in his heart. 

Wake up. Please wake up. I– Luffy needs you. 

Ten minutes pass in relative silence. Chopper comes and goes, yawning and tired. Nami tells him there are sandwiches and fried rice in the galley. 

Another handful of minutes pass and Sanji's mind is full of worsening and darkening possibilities.

Then, without warning, Zoro moved. 

Sanji almost jumped out of his skin. Leaned suddenly forward and put a hand on the pillow above his head. Stared in shock. 

Zoro muttered something under his breath and turned his head toward them.

Sanji's face went pale and he turned slowly, only then remembering he wasn't alone with the injured man. Nami smiled and took up his free hand and squeezed it tightly. 

Catastrophes sprang to life in Sanji's head, instinct telling him to hold very still, maybe Nami hadn't noticed. Simultaneously he feared Zoro would wake and there would be anger in his eyes. Hatred at what had been done to him, or that this was the beginning of death throes and Sanji would be forced to watch the strongest man he knew choke and die slowly. 

Nami leaned forward and brushed her fingers through Zoro's sweaty hair. “Zoro? Can you hear me?”

His brows twitched upward.

“Sweetheart, it's Nami. Sanji's here too. You're back on the Sunny, in the infirmary. You're safe, and you're getting better.”

It started as a low grunt, maybe a moan, but morphed into actual words from a throat no longer used to shaping them. 

“Mmmmmnnnn fffuuuck.” He pushed his chin up, back arching and shifted his feet under the blankets in obvious full body discomfort.

Nami breathed a sigh of relief, and beside her Sanji started trembling.

“Come on, Zoro. You can do it. Open those eyes for us, yeah?”

His right arm moved, elbow bending, hand sliding under the sheet. He mumbled again, something with an 'r' sound, and with great difficulty, pried gummy eyes open.

Nami was ecstatic. “Hey! There you are! We've been so worried!”

“Fuck,” It came out as a raspy whisper, eyes squinted at the brightness of the room.

“Can you understand me?”

His breath quickened, eyes flicking left and right, then squeezed shut. He whined; “Ow.”

Sanji reached forward and put a shaking hand on his knee. “Zoro?”

He flinched. Whimpered and stretched his leg toward the edge of the bed, toward Sanji. Nudged bare toes against his elbow. 

“You're OK, Marimo. We're back on the ship.”

His nostrils flared and he breathed roughly for a handful of seconds, then; “'m mouth's dry.”

And God's, Seas, Heaven, Hell! It was good to hear that voice again. 

Sanji's shoulders snagged and he let out a shaking breath, something warm sparking into being deep in his chest, but growing inexorably larger with each beat of his heart. 

He's alive. He's alive! 

Nami moved, went to the water cooler beside Chopper's desk and collected a paper cup. The dispenser bubbled and Zoro turned his head toward the sound, brow creased in thought. She returned and pushed the cup into Sanji's other hand, whispering; “I'll go get Chopper.” And she left.

Sanji sat there, heart hammering, staring between Zoro's pinched face and the cup.

Zoro pushed his leg out farther, until his foot passed the edge of the mattress, searching. “Still with me?”

The blonde's breath shook and he shifted over onto the edge of the bed at Zoro's shoulder, releasing the swordsman's knee. “I'm right here, give me a second.” He slipped an arm under his neck and lifted gently. “Deep breaths.”

Zoro's nose wrinkled, but he didn't make a sound louder than a whimper.

“You're really heavy, you know that?” Sanji pressed the cup to his lower lip, watched as the other man drank deeply-- greedily. Mumbled something that must have been intended as thanks and relaxed back into the cook's hold.

“My mouth tastes gross.”

“Yeah, you don't smell much better.” Sanji flinched at his own words wondered if it wasn't too much too soon. 

Zoro's mouth twitched. “Then plug your nose.”

Relief.

Sanji sat there for longer than he probably should have, fingers resting lightly against the pulse point in Zoro's neck. Staring down at him as if to memorize every little crest and dip in his features. Every little pore and faded hint of an old acne scar. Each dark green lash and hair in his eyebrows. The color of those on his chin and cheeks compared to that on his head. How it seemed more olive green than the rest. “This doesn't mean I like you.”

Zoro's lips quirked up at the corner. “Liar.”

Sanji tried to scowl, but his chin was trembling, so instead he curled himself around Zoro's head and shoulder, felt the swordsman grip his ankle as he brought his legs up onto the bed. The IV wire dangling between them. “You're such an idiot.”

Zoro grunted, already drifting back to sleep.

Chopper came jogging in, circled to the other side of the bed and hopped up onto his stool at Zoro's left shoulder. “Zoro?”

He sighed. “Hmm?”

“How do you feel?”

“'tired.”

Chopper looked into Sanji's face; “Did he drink that?” He pointed to the half crushed paper cup.

“Yeah.”

“Zoro, do you think you could drink some more?”

“‘m tired.”

“I know, but I need you to drink some milk or something. You need calories, IV's can only do so much. If you can't, it's OK, but I'll have to place an NG tube... that's a tube that goes up your nose and down into your stomach. Your kidneys are regaining function, so we need to get more calories into you immediately. That way you can have the energy you need to heal.”

“No tube.”

“Then you gotta have some milk or something. Think you can do that?”

He released a put-upon sigh, “'have to?”

“Yes.” Chopper moved closer to the bed and pressed his furry wrist to Zoro's brow. “I think your fever's gone down a little.” He leaped off his stool and collected a thermometer from his desk drawer. Sanitized it with a bit of cotton and alcohol and returned, swinging up onto the pillow by Zoro's head. “Say, AHHH!”

Zoro scowled.

Chopper smiled, voice sweet and innocent; “If you don't do it I'll get the anal thermometer again!”

Zoro's mouth popped open and Chopper stuck the instrument under his tongue.

“Sanji?”

He didn't look at the doctor.

“Do you want a pillow?”

He nodded.

Chopper fetched one from the closet and stuffed it under the cook's head. “If you get uncomfortable or cold, let me know.”

Sanji nodded again.

Nami appeared stirring a glass of milk.

“Did you put the sugar in it?” Chopper said.

Zoro mumbled in protest around the thermometer. “'don' like thweet thtuff.”

“Too bad.” Chopper said scowling. “Until you're stable, you'll drink it!”

Zoro whined, face screwing up, legs shifting under the blanket as if he were trying to spring out of bed and run away. It was the most pathetic objection Sanji had ever seen. All the swordsman managed to do was kick weakly at the blankets and pull them away from his chest.

Sanji hadn't seen his arm yet. Not after the revision. But, under a thick padding of gauze and elastic pressure wrapping it looked almost the same as it had when he'd... when he'd finished, back on that island. Though the abrupt end seemed like it was more rounded, and the bruising high across his bicep was fading and yellowish at the edges. 

Nami stepped closer and put a hand on Sanji's back, offered the cup to the cook and took her seat again.

As soon as Chopper had removed the thermometer Sanji lowered one leg back to the ground for balance and lifted Zoro's head a little higher, then presented the cup. “I'll make something better for you next time. How does a bisque sound?”

Zoro tilted his face away, “W-what the fuck is a bisque?”

“Creamy soup. Savory.”

A sigh. “I'll try it.”

“That's a good Moss, now open your mouth.”

He took half a drink and choked. Violently twisted his head away and retched. 

Sanji wrapped an arm around his chest, levering him up and to the side so the mess didn't soak into the bed. “Whoa! Take it easy!”

Chopper gasped and darted forward with the waste basket, shifting forms so he could help support the swordsman weight. “Deep breaths. Don't try to fight it.” 

Zoro rolled back his lips in disgust. When he was done he pressed his head backward, breathing hard; “That tasted like sewage.”

Nami frowned, tears in her eyes. “It's just milk and sugar.”

“I was afraid of this,” Chopper sighed and collected a rag to wipe the mess from Zoro's face. “I'm giving him really strong medication… Some of the side effects is gastrointestinal upset, and a foul taste in the mouth. I was hoping since he was able to take some water, that it would be mild.”

“Can't you fix it?” He was shivering, leaning heavily back into Sanji's arms. 

“Unfortunately, no. You're just gonna have to endure it. You need these medications to combat the infection and to help your kidneys function.”

He took a slow deep breath, eyes locked menacingly on the cup in Sanji's hand. As if daring it to taste bad again. “Okay… Give it here.”

“Zoro, if it tastes bad enough that you literally throw up–”

“I can do this!”

Sanji bowed his head against the back of Zoro's sweaty neck. He could still smell blood and hear the echo of screams. “Stop.”

A whisper. Barely any sound at all and Zoro went still. 

Nami stared. 

“Don't waste your strength fighting to drink a cup of milk for god's sake.” Sanji took a deep breath and pulled Zoro's head back, tucking his body closer. “Just let him give you the fucking tube so you can eat without hurting.”

“I'm not letting this beat me!”

“You're not. You're just fighting smarter. It tastes like sewage, then bypass it. You get nutrition, and you don't have to taste whatever funk is growing in that mouth of yours.”

Zoro squirmed. “That's cheating.”

“It's not. It's smart. You're using the tools you have at your disposal… Why put yourself at a disadvantage? There's no honor in trying to make yourself eat when it tastes so bad you are sick.”

“‘s fuckin’ tardigrades.”

Sanji blinked stupidly. “What?”

“You never told me what they are.”

Sanji sighed. Distraction. Zoro had done this before. Used the argument about the tanto to distract them both from unpleasantness. It was familiar, eased the growing anxiety in Sanji's gut. He looked at the doctor and nodded. “Well,” He passed the milk back to Nami. “Tardigrades are tiny little microscopic animals with six legs, sharp claws, and a big mouth. They live in moss and lichen and look kind of like fat little bears. I read about them as a kid and wanted one as a pet because then– then nobody could see it but me and they wouldn't hurt them.”

Zoro was quiet, shivering and trying to ignore the awful taste in his mouth. Trying to push down the revulsion at the thought of having a damned tube up his nose. Of not being able to even eat on his own. On top of everything this was too much. The world was asking too much. It had stripped him of every kind of dignity and allowed a fucking noname stowaway to damage him worse than goddamn Dracule Mihawk had. 

“They can also survive anything. Dehydration, starvation, freezing, boiling, getting– getting dismembered.” Sanji's voice shook. “They're amazing, and kind of stupid looking–” A watery chuckle and he wiped his face on his wrist. “Like someone else I know.”

Zoro took a slow, deep breath and let it out. Felt the blondes arms around him, covering his back and making dumb remarks like nothing had changed. Like nothing had happened, but they both knew that was a lie. It was a lie, but THIS wasn't. It wasn't a lie that when Zoro needed backup Sanji was there. His crew was there. 

Would this change that? Would seeing him at his lowest break their confidence in him? Did he really have a choice in this? If he didn't let it happen there was no way he would be able to eat anything. Even the water he'd swallowed so greedily tasted like it came from a toilet. Zoro may not like it, but he knew his own limits. And this was, at the moment, beyond them. He wouldn't heal. He wouldn't get better, he would get sicker and despite the medications, without the strength to fight the infection and toxins in his blood, he wouldn't make it. The only way he was going to make it through this was to surrender. 

It hurt. Hurt his pride, his sense of self reliance, but most of all it broke the illusion he'd built around himself. The illusion of the strong, stoic swordsman, ready to lay down life and fucking limb to protect what he believed in, just like his father. Because in that moment, despite his instincts, and his soul deep desires, he was just sick. Sick, hurt, tired and unable to keep down fucking milk. 

And Sanji was there. Right beside him, had been the whole time. 

Chopper was helping him anyway. Nami was standing there weepy with worry over him. 

Usopp, Franky, Robin and even freaking skeleton Brook were lingering in the other room, hopeful, pleading for him to just let them help. So ready to find strength in themselves they'd never shown before. Willing to do whatever he needed them to do, just to help him keep going. 

And Luffy? 

Where was Luffy? He had a vague memory of hands in his hair, eyes wide in shock, reaching for him, but unable to touch. 

Zoro sighed, defeated by his own body. “Okay.”

Sanji squeezed him as tightly as he dared. “Fight smarter, not harder. Let us worry about the rest, alright?”

Chopper shuffled forward and put a reassuring hand on Zoro's knee. “It's just temporary. As soon as you've finished the medication the side effects will wear off. I promise! This is just to help you get what you need to heal and regain your strength in spite of the side effects. It isn't permanent, and as soon as you can eat on your own I'll remove it. I promise!”

He couldn't speak. Now that the decision had been made he felt almost euphoric. Broken to pieces but held together by the gentle hands of those he cared for most. 

It was more uncomfortable than anything. A bit of colorless, astringent liquid in a cup. Fighting to get it swallowed without being sick, and then his whole mouth and throat slowly became uncomfortably numb. 

The worst part was the anticipation. Both for Zoro and Sanji because the blonde couldn't leave. He was the only one strong and slender enough to keep Zoro propped up and supported in the small infirmary space. 

Zoro for the most part just glared, dazed and half asleep, unconsciously drooling a little because of the anesthetic. But, nobody likes the idea of a tube being pushed up their nose. No matter how much gooey looking lubrication there was or how encouraging their adorable doctor was. 

Sanji hated it. Hated how floppy Zoro was. How he literally didn't have the strength to hold his own head up for more than a handful of seconds. Hated how the bigger man shivered felt so fucking small. 

“Deep breath, now hold it and swallow-swallow-swallow!”

He growled. Gagged, and his hand flexed around Sanji's ankle. 

“Good job, just give me a second to make sure it's in place!”

An empty syringe hooked on the coupler end of the tube. Draw back to look for fluid. 

“Perfect! Add a few pieces of tape and done!” Chopper grinned, tried to hide his concern and sadness behind the brightness of his smile, but it didn't work. Not really. 

Zoro grunted, eyes distant. “What now?”

“I need to show you how to use the kit but it can wait. You need rest and something in your stomach, so the instructions can wait. Just try to get comfortable. Do you need something for pain?”

Sanji felt him flinch. 

“I'm fine.”

“You're a bad liar.” Chopper patted his knee and went to his medicine cabinet. 

“I don't want anything for it. I just–” He ground his teeth, fingers growing impossibly tight around Sanji's ankle. 

“So you want to lie there in pain?” Sanji glared down at the top of his head. “You'd rather hurt than let us help you?”

“Stop it.” His voice was thin, desperate. 

“No, you stop! This is ridiculous, you're literally choosing to be in pain right now.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I will not! Two weeks of agony and you're choosing to lie there in pain because of your stupid pride!”

It wasn't pride though, all of that was already gone and Zoro didn't know how to articulate it. His head was still too muzzy, his body too heavy and weak and hurt. He simply couldn't stand seeing Chopper’s smiling little face with such worry in his eyes. Even Nami, the brief amount of time she'd been in his vision before she'd left the room, had stared at him as if she'd seen God bleed. He hated it. He hated everyone seeing him like this, hated feeling like this, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

Sanji felt anger welling in his core. He wanted to fight. Wanted to kick and scream and curse. How dare he! But, on the other hand, he understood. 

If he had never seen Zoro this low, if the others had never seen it… Maybe Zoro had never been this sick and hurt before. Maybe he had never been this weak before and he was just as terrified as everyone else. 

Sanji clenched his teeth so hard his jaws popped. He hunched forward and hissed into the swordsman ear. “You have every right to be scared. We're all scared. We almost lost you– Luffy almost lost you,” He hesitated, heart in his neck. The words came out in a whisper softer than the rest, secret between the two of them. “I almost lost you.”

Zoro's hand on his ankle relaxed. “I knew it. You do like me.”

“Shut up. Just lie there like a good pincushion and let Chopper work.”

Feeding tubes were not something Sanji had much experience with. 

There had been a few patrons of the Baratie who had them, but Sanji hadn't ever been tasked with making food where taste didn't exactly matter as much as nutritional content. 

“Sweetened milk will work in an emergency like this, but ideally he will need something more nutritionally dense.” 

Chopper used a large open syringe as a feeding apparatus. Sanji thought it was like a funnel, and had a strange mental image of Zoro dumping liquor in it like a damned beer bong. 

A third of the cup gone Chopper paused and monitored the flow of liquid, and the uncomfortable expression on Zoro's face. “Any pain or shortness of breath?”

Zoro shook his head, eyes staring to droop tiredly. 

Sanji had a feeling that the sensation of having something in his stomach after almost a week of nothing was taking a toll on the swordsman. He recognized the upward tick of his brows and the way his neck began to relax. 

“Any nausea?” Chopper stared at him intently. 

“No.” It came out on a sigh, as his eyes finally slipped closed. “‘just tired.”

“Okay, try to sleep. We'll let this settle for an hour or so and I'll give you some more, okay?”

He was already out, breath deep body lax. 

“Is it safe to do this while he's asleep?” Sanji watched the little doctor working. 

“Under normal circumstances, not really. But under supervision it's admissible.”

“Alright, so… What does he need?”

“It has to be liquid, nothing with chunks or pieces. But it can't be too thick at room temperature because it will clog the tube. Nothing hot or cold because that can be extremely uncomfortable. Then afterwards the tube needs to be flushed with clean water and capped.” 

“So, no eating or drinking while it's there?”

“No, he can eat and drink as long as it doesn't cause any issues. In fact, we need to encourage him to try and keep drinking water. I'm just not confident that he can right now. If we're lucky, he will only need it for the duration of the antibiotic course. After that the foul taste should go away and he will be able to have pretty much whatever his stomach allows.” Chopper paused, left ear flicking: “Except alcohol… No alcohol until further notice.”

“Oh, he will love that.”

“Seriously though. If at any point he wants to eat something he should try. This is just so we know, no matter what, he can get the calories he needs to heal.”

Sanji nodded. “I've made infant formula before. Something similar?”

“Similar. He needs all the usual minerals and vitamins, plus extra protein and fats. You both lost a significant amount of weight in a short period of time. I trust your judgment, but he's going to need calorie dense food to pull out of this. Tasting good isn't going to hurt, but right now it isn't going to matter as much.”

It was a mission. A purpose. A way to atone for what he'd done. “I can do that at least. I might not be able to help any other way, but I can definitely make food–”

“Sanji. You're helping him already, you know that, right?”

He bowed his head, unable to meet Chopper’s eyes. 

“He never would have let me place that tube if you hadn't talked to him.”

“I'm not–”

“You are though, I don't know what happened on that Island but I can make an educated guess… You saved his life.”

Sanji wasn't entirely sure he believed that. 

“I know it was terrifying and seemed barbaric, but he wouldn't be alive right now if it hadn't been for you.”

“You keep saying that.” Sanji choked on the words, hid his face in Zoro's hair. 

“And I will continue to, until you realize it's true. Nobody blames you, Sanji. Not even Zoro.”

“But his arm–”

“He will adapt. You know he will.” Chopper grinned. “You said it yourself. He's like a tardigrade! This isn't going to stop him!”

Sanji snorted in spite of himself, imagining a microscopic six legged version of Zoro wielding itty bitty swords and swimming in an ocean of alcohol. 

“He's getting better, Sanji, and we're all going to be there with him every step of the way.”

***

***

Chapter Text

***

Sanji didn't move from his spot half under half spooned against Zoro, for a long time. It felt too good to be that close, to know the swordsman was alive, healing, and getting the nutrition he needed. Chopper stayed for a while but eventually became fussy from lack of sleep and had to go rest. Robin, Brook, Franky, Usopp, and Nami drifted through every so often as the day wore on, checking on them. Offering a bathroom break, or something to eat. 

Zoro slept through all of it. Not surprising, Chopper had asked a lot of him for his first moments of consciousness in almost eight days. He was quiet and still and even when Sanji shifted or disappeared out onto the deck to take a quick piss over the railing, he didn't rouse. His stomach made some interesting noises, but he didn't wake. 

Somehow, seeing him like this was relieving, whereas his inability to awaken the past eight days had been utterly terrifying before. There was something different. The subtle pinch of tension between his brows was gone. Here, with the ship gently swaying, and something more than bile and water in his stomach, he was relaxed. Truly deeply sleeping.  

It was contagious, it had to be. Sanji found himself dozing off to the rhythmic cycle of Zoro's breath. Even the feverish warmth of his skin seemed less. Something in the cook's chest having finally let go of the unnatural vigilance he'd been forced to live with on that damned island. 

Sanji felt exhausted and vulnerable to a degree that was just shy of unbearable. He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a month. Maybe then, when he woke, he would feel human again. He rested for the first time in too long. Deeply, truly. Like his soul had temporarily lifted free and entered a state of true cosmic tranquility. 

His bladder on the other hand, knew no such peace. 

He woke slowly, the air was cool and dark. The Infirmary door was open and he could hear soft music drifting down the hallway, something bittersweet on Brook's violin.

A single low light burned on Chopper’s desk– And someone was running blunt fingers through his hair. 

Sanji didn't move. Knew instantly that he was safe, but the feeling of fingertips petting so lovingly over his head brought slow tears to his eyes. 

He knew those hands. The hitching sound of breath.

The fingers in his hair shifted, forming themselves against his scalp and Sanji became aware of two things at once. Zoro's deep, even breathing, and a dark head on the swordsman's chest.

Soft, near silent snuffling noises. 

Crying.

“Luffy?”

The boy jerked up and back off his precarious perch on the edge of the bed at Zoro's hip. He pinned himself against the far wall with wide frantic eyes. “I-I wasn't touching! I swear! I-I didn't mean to make it worse!” Then he whimpered, face twisting-- 

And ran. 

Sanji stared after him, shocked, confused. He turned his attention back to Zoro and found the swordsman was still sleeping, and settled on his stomach was Luffy's hat.

Zoro didn't stir when Sanji eased himself up, still didn't even flinch, so Sanji assumed the Mosshead had slipped into one of those irritating healing coma things he did every so often, where the only thing that would wake him up was an order from Luffy, or the smell of booze.

Luffy... What was that before?

Sanji rubbed his face, felt achy all over, his skin sticky, and like there was cotton stuffed in all the wrinkles of his brain. He called out softly for his captain but there was no answer. Luffy wasn't in any of his usual haunts. His room was empty, the hammock didn't look to have been slept in for a long time if the chill in the air was any indication. He wasn't in the lounge, or the galley trying to steal something from storage.

He wasn't even sitting on Sunny's figurehead or in the crow's nest.

It was like he'd vanished.

Sanji stood on deck, staring around. He'd been on deck multiple times in the last five days, but he'd been so focused on his tasks, on this sense of duty, and responsibility, this was the first time he truly realized that they hadn't moved. 

The Sunny was still anchored off shore, and looming in the darkness, highlighted by moonlight was the island, that rocky cape jutting out toward him like the searching hand of some devil.

It looked so much smaller than he remembered. Abandoned, cold without the blaze of their signal fire. Briefly he wondered why they hadn't sailed on. Wasn't it dangerous to stay? What if the marines had also seen the smoke and decided to find its source? What if some other pirates came looking? Zoro couldn't fight like this! Not that he wouldn't want to, but he physically couldn't. Not as sick as he still was, not with his wounds so fresh and devastating. 

What about their supplies? He'd been preparing a lot of fish. Where had the rice come from? How much was left? Were they going to run out of food? Water?

And then Sanji saw movement on the shore. Flickers of pale limbs in the starlight. A tree shook violently and toppled over. Sudden, silent. Soul quaking.

“Shit.”

Sanji took a deep breath and let it out. Glanced around, then leaned over the railing, staring at the side of the ship. The Mini Merry’s docking station was still open. It was dark, but there was a full moon, he could see most of the hazards in the water. If he took his time–

His stomach clenched. Fear washing over him like the tide. 

He didn't want to. He didn't want to go anywhere near that damned island ever again! If the volcano erupted and blew it off the face of the planet he would be glad for it. 

Another tree shook, uprooted and shot thirty feet into the sky then crashed down soundlessly.

Sanji moved stiffly. Quietly. Down the stairs, the hallway, into the docking bay. His hands shook as he climbed aboard the Mini Merry and moved slowly out of the dock. 

The island seemed so small. So much less than his memories made it. 

The water pushed him toward shore and he maneuvered slowly, taking everything in with his heart in his throat. 

The beach was a blue slash under the moon, dotted with lingering larger pieces if debris the tides had yet to pull away. The cape stood black to his right, like blunted teeth. The mountain less of a monolith and more of a sad eroded hill covered in wind snapped vegetation. The clearing was barely four hundred feet long, the various trees sparse with branches denuded by the past storm.

As he came ashore the whole island was eerily silent. No night insects, no squeaking birds. Just the hiss of the waves on the shore. 

Tension hung in the air like static before a lightning strike. Poised and dangerous. 

Sanji's bare feet sunk into the sand with sickening familiarity. He had walked every inch of this place and knew it almost as well as his own body. 

There in the middle distance was their shelter. The bit of torn sail flapping in the breeze. The remains of the bonfire were a blackened mound of ashes and charcoal with a few rocks around its perimeter. There was the crate of toiletries. Overturned and still bearing signs of being used as Sanji's makeshift kitchen–

The locker was pulverized. Bent into a violent jagged V shape. 

Palm trees were snapped off roughly five feet from the roots. Rocks the size of Sanji's chest thrown across the field like tinker toys. 

Sanji could feel eyes on him. The boiling magma of violent emotions poised just out of sight in the darkness of the trees. Building pressure and ready to explode. He shook, felt nauseated and weak. 

This was what he'd known was coming. What he'd felt in his bones. This unadulterated rage packed into a small rubbery package. 

His whole world was about to end, and all he could do was stand there shivering like a child. Staring with wide eyes and unable to defend himself against the righteousness of what towered before him. 

“Luffy?”

He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of the waves and his own heartbeat in his ears. He shook. Wondered if maybe he hadn't peed himself from how scared he felt. 

Then there was movement. 

Not fast, not lightning quick. Hands and fists made of midnight and fury. No. It happened suddenly, but slow. Small and a lot closer than he had at first thought. 

Luffy was huddled in the shadow of the overturned crate. Deflated, exhausted. Arms around his knees, wet face bowed. He hiccuped. “I'm sorry… I didn't mean to run off. I-I just needed to let it out.”

Sanji stared. Shocked. But, the tension, the aura pressing down on him remained, withdrawn back into the trees. Waiting. 

Not Luffy. It– it wasn't Luffy? 

And then it hit him, a bleeding, sickening realization. Knowledge with absolute clarity, that what was beyond those trees, hidden and unreachable, was wrapped in Zoro's ruined shirt. The monster that guarded it, that shouted it's anger, was much worse than Luffy. 

Zoro hadn't wanted to see his bones burning in the fire. He hadn't wanted to be forced to face the fact of his own arm lying there severed and attracting flies. 

So, Sanji had made sure he was breathing, wrapped in blankets, as stable as he could be– and he'd left the shelter. 

He'd split it off in his head. Refused to think about it, to acknowledge it was happening. He became someone– Something, else. Something cold and detached. Something that didn't flinch at the bloody mess all over the grass or his shirt. Or the lingering sensation of forcing needles through muscle and skin. 

Sanji had just floated away into the trees like dandelion fluff, and lost himself to an inhuman agony. 

He remembered the weight of it, how even without a heart and lungs it had still oozed blood. The heft and shape of it had been revolting. A dead piece of a living friend. 

He'd gone thirty three paces into the woods. Dug down into the earth with bare hands thirty three inches, and careful lowered the bundle down. 

Then he'd filled the hole and gone to the stream to clean himself up. 

But, part of Sanji hadn't left that place. Part of him still knelt there, waiting, angry with himself, with the world, for letting this happen. For forcing this to happen — angry with himself for becoming exactly what They had tried to make him so many years ago, even for a second, and hurting someone he loved. 

“Fuck.” Sanji sank weakly to his knees, hands over his mouth. 

Luffy lifted his head, stared with reddened watering eyes. “I just don't wanna hurt you guys any more than you already are.”

Sanji nodded, still staring at nothing and everything at once. 

“Sanji?”

He couldn't answer. 

Luffy crawled over and pressed himself tightly to the cook’s side. “Sanji, where are you right now? You feel really far away.” He rubbed his own face, trying to dry it, then swiped the wetness on Sanji's with gentle, calloused fingers. “Talk to me. What's going on?” But it was about as effective as trying to sop up the ocean with a single tissue. “Are you mad at me?”

He couldn't answer, just sat there staring into the trees and knowing the horror he'd been expecting was his own reflection. 

Luffy's arms encircled him tightly. “It's OK. We're here together.” He hiccuped again. “You don't have to hold it in with me. Not here. Not now.”

Sanji's body slowly collapsed inward. Arms folding against Luffy's chest. Head tucked under his captain's chin. It didn't make sense how large Luffy felt in that moment, how big and powerful even as they both cried. It didn't make sense that the specter in the trees faded with every sob, but it did. Slowly like it was eaten away by time, until there was nothing left. Just the night shadows in the treeline, and the shock muted memory of what he had done there. 

It hurt the way treating an injury hurts, agony that felt good at the same time. A release, an end to the conversation days after it had started.

“I'm not a bad person?”

“No. You're one of the best people I know!”

“Do-do you think he's going to be angry with me? W-what if he hates me?”

Luffy held him tighter. “He won't. We just gotta give him time to get better. This was bigger than anything we've dealt with before. So, we've gotta take time to heal first. It's not safe to push on yet. We've gotta make sure we're all OK before we move on.”

“What– what are you saying? Are you going to leave him?”

“Of course not!” Luffy's fingers tightened like claws. “I can't be King of the Pirates without him or without you. So, we just gotta wait until you're both OK again before we keep going! That simple.”

“What if he doesn't get better?”

“He's not going to die.” There was a dark finality in his voice, pressure in his arms just daring fate to try and take Zoro away after everything. “Franky’s going to make him a new arm and he's going to be fine.”

Sanji wished he were that confident, but two weeks watching Zoro slowly dying had worn away what he'd had stored in his bones. “What if–”

“No, what ifs. This isn't the end for either of you. Zoro's gonna become the World's Greatest Swordsman, and you're gonna find the All Blue. Nami's gonna make her world map–” His voice faded off into sniffles. “We're going to be fine. All of us.”

Sanji held on tighter. 

“Maybe he can learn to use a sword with his feet or something in the meantime… Can you do that? Use a sword with your feet?”

“He uses his mouth so why not, I don't know.”

“Then it'll be okay! It's just gonna be different. That's all.”

Different. That's all. Sanji wished he could crawl into that pool of unending hope in Luffy's chest and drown in it. Maybe the proximity could spark some to life in his own heart. 

“Why are we still here, Luffy? Why haven't we sailed away?”

Luffy sighed, shoulders sagging. “It's nothing–”

“Please, tell me the truth. Why haven't we gone back to Onion Billy? I know our supplies are low. We had enough to get from there to Delta Verde, but not enough to linger like this. What's going on.” And irrational fear swept over him that maybe this had all been a dream. Maybe he was lying on the beach dying of sunstroke and they had never been rescued in the first place. Maybe they were already dead and this was hell. 

Luffy's face crumbled. “Chopper wanted to stay close in case he didn't make it… So we could bury him. Zoro didn't want to be buried at sea.”

“Then why haven't we moved on yet? He's getting better!” His hands tangled in the captain's vest, desperate and longing to depart this hell scape. 

“We don't have the supplies to make it back to Onion Billy. We salvaged some rice and stuff from a shipwreck we found a few days before we found you but there wasn't a whole lot of it. Usopp, Franky and I have been trying to stock up on fish and refill the water barrels but it's time consuming and we're using it almost as fast as we can gather it.”

Sanji's stomach felt cold. Fear like a stone in his guts. “I can help.”

“You're hurt too. You need to rest.”

“Luffy, I'm not that bad off. I can help get water. I can help with gathering food. I know more about what's edible on this island than any of you.”

Luffy's jaw flexed as he turned over their conversation. After a moment he nodded. “Usopp thinks he can blast the rock in the cave and let more water out.”

“But if it doesn't work, that could destroy our water source… Collecting from the stream could be viable if we boil it before use. I don't know how many eels are left back there, they were the easiest to catch when we were alone.”

Luffy nodded. “If you promise me that you won't overdo it, I'll let you help. But, if Chopper says you need to rest, then you do it!”

Sanji nodded against his chest. “Okay, I promise.”

***

Chapter Text

***

Stocking up four days worth of food sounds easy. For one person it is. Two or three people even, is simple enough. 

Eight people and Luffy, is not. 

By Sanji's calculations, they had enough rice left for six meals. If he went light for lunch, ie., no rice. He would have three days. More if he kept it strictly for dinner. 

Fresh eggs were down to a dozen, but he had plenty of powdered eggs. Plenty of powdered milk, and the bin of potatoes was about half full. There was a whole jar of dried minced onion, and nobody had touched the bread flour during those two weeks because nobody knew how to make bread. 

The sugar was almost gone, and the fresh vegetables were down to a crate of butternut squash. 

They had food. Not a particularly wide variety, but there was food. 

It just definitely wasn't enough to feed nine people for four to five days, and the only protein they had was a nearly empty jar of peanut butter and a few bony fish in the aquarium. 

The thing was, one day without eating was uncomfortable for a fit person, so if they had to they could make it. So it wasn't entirely the food. 

They didn't have enough drinking water. Reverse Osmosis filters on the ship’s pumps were fine for cleaning, and bathing, and sometimes for cooking. But you wouldn't want to drink it for days straight, not in this heat. The filters removed the minerals in the water, and working on a ship meant a person would sweat, regardless of the temperature. RO water didn't have the minerals and electrolytes to replenish them. 

And with Zoro on a liquid diet, it would be disastrous.

Nothing for it then. 

Sanji sat his jaw and went onto the deck, scanning the water around the ship in the warm dawn light. “We need to move the ship.”

Nami looked up from her journal, eyes tired. “What?”

“We've been sitting here constantly fishing this area for five days. The bigger fish are scared off, they won't come close. We need bigger fish, so we need to move.”

She nodded. “How far? We need to stay close to the island.”

“Just to the other side should be fine.”

“Okay, when the others get up I'll let them know.”

Sanji went back to the kitchen and started preparing for the day. 

Fruit. Miso. Powdered eggs. Not as filling as he would like, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Not until he got back on that godforsaken island. Not until they moved and we're able to get more fish. 

Bread. BREAD. He could make lots of enriched bread. Bread pudding. Yes. That would make a good lunch. 

Dinner, if they managed to get a few big fish, squash soup, rice pilaf, roast fish. 

Now for Zoro. 

Reconstituted dry milk doesn't taste good. But, add a little vanilla, or almond extract, a little sugar or honey and it's not bad. Good enough for sea life. 

Making a meal out of it is trickier. 

Add a little more water, salt, and egg, you essentially get a milk consistency custard. Heat it in his cast-iron pot, and it gets iron as well. Add some bone broth and it will taste weird, but will add collagen and minerals and fat, and right now that's what Zoro needed. 

Robin was in the infirmary seated by the bed with a book. She was reading aloud, softly and every so often reached over to the stroke over Zoro's head. 

“The Countess gave him a look better suited to a hardened warrior than a lady of the court and snapped her hand fan shut. ‘What would you know of a woman's life? What would you know of the disappointment and trials put upon that girl before you came into her life with your sweet words and gilded lies. Of course she-’” Robin stopped and looked up, perhaps a little too lost in the storytelling to have heard Sanji's shoes tapping on his approach. But his presence in the doorway was not easily missed. 

Sanji smiled at her when she looked up, but it felt wrong on his face, pulled at the still tender burns on his cheeks. “How is he?”

Robin's mouth compressed and she turned her gaze to the swordsman. “Sleeping. He's not as quiet as he has been, perhaps he's dreaming.”

Sanji hoped if Zoro was dreaming, that it was more pleasant than his own dreams. He opened his mouth to say something about breakfast but words failed him and he ended up just standing there staring at the man on the bed. 

Robin, ever observant, smiled softly. “Would you like to sit with him? Chopper will be waking up soon and things will be less peaceful with the others coming through to check on him.” She closed her book and sat it aside, staring at Sanji expectantly. 

He couldn't say no, and it wasn't just because she had asked. By the time he and Luffy had returned to the ship earlier that morning, Robin was already awake and sitting by Zoro's side, so Sanji had begun the daunting task of re-familiarizing himself with the contents of his pantry. Trying not to feel weirdly upset that he couldn't return to the swordsman side without falling under that knowing stare of Robin's. 

So, chores it was. 

Robin interrupted his thoughts with a soft chuckle. “Go on and sit. I'll be back in a few minutes.” She stood and patted his shoulder as she passed. 

Sitting alone with Zoro. 

Alone with Zoro. 

Again. 

He's not snoring, but Sanji thinks that has more to do with the feeding tube than anything. He looks awful. Greasy hair, fuzzy unkempt face. Smelled of antiseptic and body odor. 

“You need a bath.” 

Zoro's eyes twitched, dreaming. 

“What are you dreaming about, huh? Booze and big breasted women?” He snorted, amused with himself and tugged the blankets higher across the swordsman chest. His hand lingered, hovering above the dip in the covers. Shifting to rest over the other's heart. The steady, albeit too quick beats felt through flesh.

Sanji's throat ached. The revelation of early that morning still fresh in his mind. All the fear he'd been holding in, all the anger at himself, the despair. “I won't be angry with myself for saving you.”

Zoro didn't reply. 

“I won't.” Sanji said, more to reassure himself than anything else. 

Usopp was the first to come by the infirmary. His hand cupped around some apple slice, chewing quietly. “They're going to be heading out in a few. Luffy and Franky are just finishing up their breakfast.” He looked Sanji up and down. “Did you eat?”

He had not, and he couldn't quite meet Usopp's eyes because of it. 

“Luffy said you can't go if you don't eat something.”

Sanji had a sneaking suspicion Luffy had said no such thing, but he knew Chopper would scold him, and that Luffy would take notice of. 

Usopp sighed, crunched on his apple slices. “We're going to move the ship in a little bit. If we're lucky we'll be able to catch enough fish that if you guys can get enough water back to the ship, we can set sail to Onion Billy by morning. Or Nami hopes so anyway.”

That would be amazing. Sanji rubbed his mouth. “Are there any eggs left?”

“There's some, but you better hurry, Luffy's had seconds already. I'll sit with him until Robin and Chopper finish.”

Luffy looked exhausted. Eating uncharacteristically slow, but he smiled brightly when Sanji entered the kitchen and collected a plate, adding a portion of eggs and apple slices before he moved to the coffee pot. 

Robin and Chopper were seated at either side of the captain at the bar. Chopper bounced excitedly when Sanji appeared. 

“Sanji, did you have time to make Zoro's breakfast?” 

“It's cooling, as soon as it's room temperature it should be safe to use. I made about four liters, will that be enough?”

“That's plenty, I don't want to overload his stomach. We'll see how much he tolerates today and go from there.”

Sanji nodded. “Just be sure to set it in the refrigerator when you're done so it doesn't spoil.”

“How do we heat it back up?” Robin's delicate brows were pinched. 

“Uhm-”Sanji swallowed his mouthful and turned to collect a set of pots from a lower cabinet. “Fill the bigger one about a third of the way, put the portion you're going to use in the smaller one, and set it inside like this.”

“A Bain-Marie?”

“Exactly. You want it about body temperature I think, right Chopper?”

“More or less.”

Robin nodded. “I've melted chocolate like this, so I think I can handle heating it, if that's alright with you, Sanji.”

He felt somewhat giddy at the thought of Robin tempering chocolate. “Of course! Just please don't burn yourself, I'd never forgive myself if my cookware caused you harm.”

She smiled gently, knew his heart wasn't really in it, and found the whole thing endearing. She'd seen the way he'd looked at the swordsman, seen the way he'd clung to him the majority of the day previously. There was more there than kinship grown through trauma, but if Sanji wasn't ready to admit that to himself yet, she would let him have his illusions until the time came. She wondered, however, if the blonde recognized how Zoro relaxed in his presence, how he seemed to rest easier when he could hear the chef speaking. If he did, would that make a difference? 

***

It curdled Sanji's stomach to see the Sunny sailing away as he, Luffy and Franky made their way to the island. 

Even though he knew the ship was only moving to the other shore it pitched his anxiety toward the clouds. 

Franky tugged on the oversized button up he'd loaned the blonde in an attempt to comfort him. “You and Luffy head to the stream, I'll circle around and see what the coral situation looks like.”

Luffy snatched up two barrels, one on each shoulder and bounced off the Mini Merry onto the beach, he had a grin on his face, but it wasn't really in his eyes. There was purpose, and seriousness that made Sanji feel a little less unstable as he grabbed two smaller barrels and the dipper then waded to shore. 

Sanji hated the island. Hate hate hated it. 

The barely contained emotion must have been clearly written on his face because Luffy looked around with animated curiosity. “What kind of food is here? It all looks so different in the daylight.”

Sanji led the way toward the area of the stream at the foot of the mountain where he'd collected water before. “a whole lot of coconuts, squash, and eels. There's some blueberries to the north, but they're probably all dried out and inedible by now. And a few pineapple plants to the south, but we ate all the ripe ones. There might be some miniature bananas at the far south point but I couldn't see any fruit when I looked. The clearing behind the shelter has sweet potato, onion, parsley, and hibiscus.”

“I like sweet potatoes!”

“Well, you drop the barrels off, you can go get one and I'll cook it for you.”

Luffy found an arm load of sweet potatoes. Dropped them off by the stream where Sanji was careful dipping water into the barrels and absently wondering where Franky was.

Luffy built a small fire as instructed, sharpened a few sticks and skewered a few potatoes to lean over the flames. 

Sanji said washing them and wrapping them in banana leaves them burying them in the coals turned out better, but Luffy was impatient and said this was how he'd learned to cook meat as a child. 

Sanji threw a rock at him and sent him off to collect banana leaves. 

Franky still hadn't shown up. 

An hour passed. 

Luffy didn't return. 

Sanji's stomach twisted painfully. 

“SANJI! SANJI COME QUICK!”

He ran. Panic tightening his chest like a giant hand squeezing. 

Luffy was up a tree point toward the eastern shore with a bright gleeful look on his face. 

Sanji stopped under the captain long enough to catch his breath then turned and sprinted to the shore. 

He could see the Sunny, anchored with its stern facing the island, and on deck Franky, Usopp and a number of Robin's arms were fighting with a fishing net. 

Sanji could see colorful shining bodies flopping and flashing in the light. So many, large, fat, glistening fish. 

It-it had worked. 

Moving the ship had worked! 

Luffy was laughing wildly, swinging around in the treetops chanting: “FISH FOR DINNER! FISH FOR DINNER!”

Sanji sat heavily on the sand and rubbed his face. Rubbed away tension he wasn't aware had been lingering. 

They wouldn't have to skip meals. They wouldn't starve. Nobody would go hungry. 

Franky, Usopp, and Robin managed to wrestle the net onboard and Sanji could see the cyborg and sniper celebrating, dancing around excitedly. 

Nami ran over and grabbed Usopp in a hug and he swung her in a circle. 

They would make it. As soon as they could fill the water barrels they would be able to leave. They would make it back to Onion Billy, to safety. To civilization. 

They could get supplies, get more medical help if Zoro needed it. 

They were going to be alright. 

Everything was going to be okay.

***

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***

Chapter Text

***

They filled two two hundred liter water barrels. Plus the two twenty liter barrels Chopper kept. 

It was enough for four days. Enough for eight honestly. 

They could do it. Nami, grinning, said that with Chopper’s OK on Zoro's stability, they could leave in the morning. 

To go from such uncertainty to such surplus in less than twenty-four hours, Sanji had to go hide in the bathroom and cry for a while. Finally able to release all the pent up fear and worry. Finally able to let himself breathe now that it was only a matter of ours before they would be underway. 

Usopp found him, pulled him close into a hug and said that they would make it through this, no matter what happened. Everything was going to be okay. 

Franky and Robin helped with dinner. Grilled squash and kneaded dough respectively. 

It came out simple but delicious and Sanji melted into the sounds of his crewmates eating. The taste and flavor. When he was finished he heated the portion of “Milk Shake” as Luffy had called it, for Zoro, and took it to the infirmary. 

“You want to let it go on its own. See how it flows steadily? If it stops flowing it means there could be a clog, so you have to watch it closely.” Chopper looked tired. “He seems to respond better to smaller portions at more frequent intervals. He rests more soundly if he has a little in his stomach.”

It was a little awkward at first. Zoro was still unconscious and feeding him through the tube while he wasn't awake felt wrong somehow. Sanji wanted him to wake up, to be healed, most of all he wanted to keep his promise. Cook a meal for the swordsman and watch him eat and drink. Sanji wanted to know without a shadow of a doubt that Zoro was okay, that things could find a new normal, whatever that may be. 

“Does he look kind of sweaty to you?” Sanji glanced over his shoulder and caught Chopper’s eye as the little doctor was collecting gauze, preparing to change his patient’s bandages. 

“He's been on wide spectrum antibiotics for almost a week, he's shown signs of improvement, so we're just waiting for the fever to break. It's why he needs someone with him all the time until it does. If his temperature falls too quickly it could be bad.”

“Is it safe for us to leave?”

“Yes, I think so. We just have to be vigilant and make sure he doesn't try to over do it when he does wake up.”

Sanji snorted, amused and rinsed the tube thoroughly with some clean water before he capped it and clipped the end back to Zoro's pillow. “You know how he is though. I bet he'll be out of bed and back to training the same day he wakes up.”

Chopper looked at him warily before taking a few steps forward and putting a small hoof on the cook's knee. “Sanji, he's not going to be able to get out of bed.”

“What? Of course he will!”

“Let me explain,” Chopper pulled his chair closer and hopped into it. “When a person is terribly sick and unable to move, or unconscious for an extended period without movement, their muscles can atrophy. Do you know what that means?”

Sanji stared at the swordsman. He did know what that meant. But, no. No, it couldn't happen to Zoro! The big green gorilla was a meathead! He-he… Yeah, okay, he definitely looked thinner, but– And he hadn't moved much  for almost two weeks now. He looked– He looked thin, sick.  

“How-” Sanji's voice caught painfully in his throat. “-How long will it take him to get back to normal?”

Chopper gave him a mournful look. “It could take up to a year, it all depends on how badly damaged his kidneys and liver were by the toxins. And how well he is able to adapt to missing an arm.”

A year? 

What–what were they going to do if they came across a particularly strong enemy? What if they were attacked by Marines?

What if–

“He's really strong, Sanji. He'll be okay, we just need to all be there for him until he heals and Franky can construct a new arm for him. It isn't going to be easy. He's stubborn, and mentally, I don't know how it's going to impact him. But I believe that it's going to be alright. Zoro won't let this beat him!”

***

It happened just after midnight. Sanji was awake, too anxious about setting sail in the morning to fall asleep easily. 

Luffy was snoring in his bunk, limbs dangling. Brook was a loose skeleton in his own bunk, dressed in a silk nightdress and bonnet to protect his hair. He looked the same as he usually did, but the gape of his toothy mouth and the sound of nasal wheezing coming from somewhere within his bones meant he was asleep, or doing a hell of a good job pretending to be it was hard to tell.

Franky was on watch. Usopp and Nami were taking a two hour shift sitting with Zoro. And Sanji couldn't sleep. 

The noise, gentle as it all was, didn't feel as comforting as usual. It was like Sanji could feel a growing tension in the air. 

But, no matter how he focused on it, all was quiet, all was still. 

Until Usopp's bare feet thumped quickly into the room and Sanji sat up just as the sniper approached him. 

Usopp had a frantic air about him, wide eyed, and ringing his hands. “Sanji, we need some help.”

“Where's Chopper?” He shot to his feet without even bothering to dress. Just moving out onto the deck and running for the stairs in his underwear. 

“He's already in there. We're just not strong enough to keep him still!”

Sanji could hear the noise now. Moaning. Nami’s sweet voice cooing that everything was going to be okay, just relax. 

Sanji came into the room a little too quickly and almost slammed into Chopper in his larger man shaped form. 

Nami was on her knees beside the bed with a wet cloth, trying to wipe the swordsman's face and neck but every time she tried he flinched away with a wordless moan. 

His scarred chest was heaving, bare and slick with sweat and he'd kicked and fussed with the blankets so much they were barely covering his nakedness. 

“Uhm.” Sanji stared at him, face red, stomach bubbling. Then stepped forward to help. “Does he need to stay covered?”

“We tried that.” Chopper sighed. “He's delirious, and agitated.”

“Is the fever breaking?”

“It's trying to, it could take a while though, and with his struggling he could hurt himself. So our main objective right now is to calm him down.”

“I think he's having a nightmare.” Nami said, trying to put the cloth on his face again. “And he just can't wake up.”

“Should we try to wake him up?”

Usopp shuffled into the room behind Sanji and went to the other side of the bed as Nami, pulling the sheet up. “We tried that, and it didn't work.”

Sanji turned to Chopper again, fear bubbling in his chest. “Why wouldn't he wake up?”

“He doesn't have enough energy. His body is so taxed by just functioning and trying to fight down the infection, he can't.”

Sanji stared, felt weak in his knees. Wasn't Zoro supposed to be getting better? He was awake just two days ago! Why wouldn't he be able to wake up now? It-it was worse than he had thought. It was just like back on that damned island! 

Nami glanced up and caught the expression on the cook's face. All her anxiety faded and realization took its place. Sanji was trembling. Standing there in his underwear and looking at Zoro with an absolutely heartbroken expression on his face. Since when did Sanji look at anyone like that? 

My god , she took a shuddering breath. When did THIS happen?!  

“Sanji, know it's hard seeing him like this, but even as weak as he is right now, he's too strong for the three of us alone.” Nami met his eyes, apologetic even as she continued to pet Zoro's head, trying to break through to him and restore his senses. “We need you to help. He might react to your voice and we won't need to restrain him.”

Sanji swallowed past the lump in his throat and moved to the side of the bed, resting his hip on the mattress by Zoro's legs, hands resting heavily on his knees. 

Words failed him for a handful of breaths and he just watched the swordsman shift restlessly against the sheet, squirming away from any touch. 

“Zoro?” He spoke clearly, gave the other’s knee a gentle squeeze and focused on the scar around Zoro's exposed ankle. “You're dreaming. Whatever you're seeing? It's just a dream, it's not real. We're safe. I promise you. I-I know you're– You're trying to get back to us, but you have to calm down. You can't stubborn yourself out of this one and it sucks. I know it sucks because if it's this bad for me, then it's worse for you, and seeing you like this is fucking unbearable.” His voice cracked, throat too tight to allow that particular thought to be finished, but– The room was quiet. 

Zoro's breathing was still quick, still broken with febrile little shivers, but he was no longer twisting and fighting against them. Curled onto his right side, curled in on himself with his knees tucked toward his chest. 

Sanji took a deep breath and let it out slowly, met Nami's knowing eyes and felt his stomach drop. 

Fuck . 

***

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Chapter Text

*-*-*

Sanji felt like he was walking on egg shells. Afraid to do anything and draw Nami's attention. 

She'd seen, she was aware of the bubbling nervous energy Sanji had been fighting with for days now. Nami knew, and she understood what it was. He didn't know if there was a worse outcome than the object of his devotion discovering the newly realized object of his uncertain affection. 

Sanji was not exactly hiding from her, he couldn't bear possibly making her sad by outright avoiding her, but there was fear there in every smile, every breath. The anticipation of her words, of her speaking those feelings into being and making them unavoidable. 

If she never said anything, and he never said anything, then he could ignore them. He wouldn't have to face them, or the feeling itself. Because Zoro was unconscious, and he was stubborn enough not to say anything himself, even if he did wake up.

When he woke up...

Sanji's bones ached, willing the man to just WAKE UP! MOVE! Please, please be okay again! Anything at all! Because every hour that ticked by made that longing worse. Made the fear worse. 

He was almost willing to say it aloud, even if only to himself, if it would just make Zoro angry enough by existing out in the real world, to spur him into waking. 

Sanji spent a long time after lunch standing at the stern playing with his lighter and the still yet unopened package of cigarettes. For as badly as he had craved them while on that god forsaken island, now that he had them, he hadn't been able to open them. Something hadn't felt right, though he couldn't put his finger on it. 

Add to that the sudden anxiety about Nami having SEEN, he had never felt this unbelievably vulnerable in his adult life.  Not even bing caught at thirteen making out on shift in the broom cupboard with a girl six years older than him had left him feeling this damned nervous. And Zeff had yelled at him for an hour and beat him about the head with a cutting board. 

So, he stood there, fidfdling and going over and over the events of the night before while the island shrank into the distance behind them. 

So far, Nami hadn't said a word. She'd given him sneaky knowing looks every time she caught his eyes, all throughout breakfast and lunch. And the night before had been painfully awkward because as soon as Zoro had settled, Sanji was given the honor of taking over Usopp's last two hours sitting at the swordsman's bedside with Nami to monitor him.

Sanji never thought he would be in a situation where he was essentially alone with Nami for hours and not be able to say anything!

It had been a long greuling period of changing cold water, pulling blankets up when Zoro squirmed in his sleep. Wiping sweat from his face, neck and chest, or rubbing his back when he curled in on himself whilst dreaming. It was two of the longest hours of his life. He wasn't sure he'd even felt that anxious watching Zoro's decline in that fucking lean to hut they'd constructed. 

Every whimper, or change of water, or toss of the other man's head on the pillow was proof though. Proof Zoro's body was fighting back the infection. He was winning. But with every minute that passed Sanji felt his own battle slipping through his fingers. 

It was getting harder and harder to find a reason to leave the swordsman’s side. The only place Sanji felt he could actually rest was right there beside him. He wouldn't be able to relax fully until he knew Zoro was OK. 

Robin relieved him before dawn, and Sanji just lie awake in his bunk dreading the day. Dreading the stretch of ocean between them and Onion Billy. 

But morning came nonetheless. Chores, obligations, and anticipation. The clouds lingered until after lunch, and then the sun shone brightly, the wind picking up with it. Nami had given the go-ahead to set sail.

Leaving that awful place should have been a relief, but Sanji didn't feel any better. It kind of hurt a little, knowing they were leaving part of Zoro behind. But, Sanji had to remind himself, Zoro was alive because they had. They were headed back to civilization, to an actual hospital where he could get the care their small infirmary wasn't capable of giving him. 

Everything was, actually, going according to plan. Even if it felt like everything was falling apart. 

Zoro's fever refused to fully abate, but it wasn't as high anymore. The hectic flush of illness was gone from his face and what color remained spoke of slowly returning health. Improved bloodpressure and nutrition. 

Every time Sanji had peeked in on him throughout the day, dropping off another milkshake, or just checking in because his mind was circling catastrophies, the swordsman seemed almost peaceful. Sleeping instead of unconscious. Sanji hadn't known that there was a difference, as one typically looked like the other, but he could pick out little things. The flick of Zoro's eyes under his lids, the quality of his breath. He wasn't as restless as the night before, but the motion seemed easy, untroubled, and it was such a relief. 

Chopper had taken to dozing at his desk, worn out from working so hard to mix medicines and clean bandages, or generally monitor Zoro at all hours. So much work in taking care of a seriously ill crewmate. It amazed Sanji how much the little reindeer was actually responsible for, and how ill-equiped their infirmary truly was for serious illness and injury. Not that Chopper wasn't making do with what he had, but the space allotted to him was so small, heaven forbid more than one of them fall dangerously ill at the same time. 

Sanji vowed to himself that he would take the time to thank their little doctor every day going forward. He had been asked to perform miracles in a room smaller than Sanji's pantry, and keep the crew alive in the most dangerous places on the planet. Simply making the occasional snack for him suddenly didn't feel like it was enough. 

Robin strode onto the deck and Sanji barely reacted he was so lost in thought. He didn't even notice she was there until she conjured a hand and touched his elbow. 

“You're sunburns look better.”

He flinched and turned toward her with wide eyes. “What?”

She stepped forward and caught his chin between two fingers, tilted his head to appraise his cheeks and brow and shoulders. “The freckles are actually quite attractive.”

He offered a wan little girn; “If you like them I'll let my whole body burn--”

She pressed a finger to his lips and tilted her chin down knowingly; “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Nami isn't the only one with eyes, you know. I think we should have a little chat about your feelings for our swordsman.” 

His stomach dropped and he felt faint. “Oh.”

She smiled gently. “Would you like to start, or should I?”

He wanted to sink into the floorboards like weatherproofing and disappear.

“For what it's worth, I don't believe this is a new development, or something spurred from trauma, if that's what you're worrying about.” 

He stared at the package of cigarettes in his hand, but still couldn't let himself open them. Even though he wanted literally anything more than to have this conversation. 

“You've always cared enough to challenge one another. Your awareness of him eclipses almost everything else.”

“He's a pain in my ass.” 

“Yet, you can't help but want him to see you. To pay attention to you.”

He feigned ignorance. “I just want him to wake up.”

“Sanji,” There it was. That knowing look, that soft smile. He was doomed. 

“I want to know he doesn't hate me for doing this to him. Nothing else matters. I can go back to how things were before as long as he doesn't despise me for this.” 

“But that isn't what you want.”

“I don't know what I want...” He took a deep breath and let it out, clicked his lighter open and closed again, then put it and the cigarettes away in the pocket of his slacks before he threw them into the sea in frustration. 

Robin nodded. “I didn't either when you all saved me. For a while I wasn't sure if it had been the right thing. Some days I still have dark thoughts and wonder of it was.”

He turned to her, mouth opened to tell her all the wonderful things about her that he cherished and why she deserved to be alive but she held up that finger again, eyes warning him to be still. 

“I don't want to die, not anymore. Not really. Sometimes I just want everything to stop, because it feels like its all too much, or too good to be true. I couldn't concieve that things would be different with you. Not really. I was angry. Afraid, and tired. It’s taken some time, and some private heart-to-hearts, but I'm beginning to see that I truly don't have to hide so much of myself. That to you, and Luffy, and Nami and the others- you see ME. All along, I was a person, not a monster… You want me here, even if I'm a little odd.”

“Never!” Sanji put his hand on hers atop the railing. “You're interesting.”

“I'm odd, I can admit that.” She bumped her shoulder against his fondly. “But none of you have ever begrudged me my little eccentricities. My obsessions. Or my delights. You've welcomed me with open arms and given me something I never thought I could have. You gave me room and care enough to discover what I really want for myself. It's strange, how fate can put people in your way, and at first there's animosity but over time you begin to see how precious they are. How your life has improved, and intertwined with theirs.” She hesitated, swayed with the wind, then turned her body a little more in Sanji's direction, leaned closer so her voice didn't carry as far. “Sanji, you're not the only one who found someone here.”

He blinked, surprised and turned to her. 

“It’s nothing serious yet. But it could be, and I've never let myself hope for something like this, let alone dream that I would have the freedom to love, but here– What I mean to say is, you don't have to be afraid of it. What you're feeling, it's a wonderful thing. To find love in the person who challenges you to be yourself. Who is willing to stand with you through hell.”

Sanji stared at her, felt that boiling sensation of fear and need in his chest begin to dissipate. “What if he hates me? What if he wakes up, and he's different. What if he's broken and its my fault? I wasn't good enough, or fast enough what if– what if I'm not good enough to pick up what he can't carry? W-what if I let him down?” It all came bubbling out in a sudden rush. Fear and anger and want all tangled together in a desperate bid for freedom. 

“He's always been there! He's pushed me when I felt like giving up. He's made me angry and made me want to fight for myself, he's made me want to stand up for myself! He's loud and obnoxious and he laughs with his whole chest and it makes the room feel warm… He gives everything of himself without hesitation. He's always been stronger, but he makes me want to be better, he–he makes me want to be more than just a cook. I-I would have stayed with Zeff for the rest of my life out of fear and obligation, but I saw him throw himself with everything he had at his dream and fail! And he got back up ready to try again. I-I couldn't have done that. I still don't know if I can.” He rubbed the tears from his face, frantic and unable to stop. “I don't know if I can do this! I'm scared, and I'm angry! I'm so angry that he made me do this to him– but why! I don't understand! How can I be angry when he's the one who lost an arm! How can I be so scared– what right do I have to feel any of this!”

Robin pulled him in, slender arms full of unimaginable strength. Squeezing him so hard his injured ribs screamed in protest. 

“I love him.” His breath caught on a sob and he hid his face in her hair. “My god, I love him and I almost lost him! I had his blood on my hands! I took a knife to him and I love him and everyone keeps telling me that I saved his life, but he screamed so much–”

Robin sprouted more arms, held him all the tighter as they sank to the deck, kneeling there together as the dam finally broke. 

“I don't know how I deserve to love him after what I've done. What I had to become to do all of it. What if he's afraid of me now? I'm so sorry– I didn't want to lose him, what if he can't do it now, because of this? What if he fails again and its my fault?”

Robin didn't have answers. She just hummed a half forgotten tune and held him. Let him mourn what they'd both left behind on that island. The innocence they'd both lost in the wake if the storm. 

Sanji eventually ran out of words, ran out of fears to list and regrets to air and he was left collapsed against her lap while she petted his hair mumbling to himself over and over; “I love him. I love him.”

The sun strode across the sky and the wind blew. The island disappeared over the horizon. 

*-*-*

In the end, it was anticlimactic. Robin led him into the infirmary by the hand and Sanji was rubbing teary eyes and drippy nose on a handkerchief. 

Franky was sitting beside Zoro's bed reading the same novel Robin had been reading aloud, face pinched in concentration and delight about whatever was happening on page two hundred thirteen. He paused when they entered gave the archeologist a grin and motioned to the book. “You weren't kidding, this is a page turner!”

Sanji had a suspicion it was a romance novel, even if the cover was innocuous. 

“How is he?” Robin nudged Sanji into the chair beside Zoro's head. 

“Fever’s still hanging in there, but its low. Chopper and Brook are heating up a milkshake for him.” He sat the book aside and turned to Sanji. “Feeling better, bro?”

Sanji stared up at him, a little numb. Blinked aching eyes. 

Franky huffed in sympathy. “Yeah, I feel that.” He stood and stretched obscenely, his eyes lingering on Sanji's slumped shoulders and drained appearance. “Sometimes having a good cry can make things a lot clearer though.” 

Sanji wiped his nose again, felt like his whole face was irritated by the tears. “I'll start with dinner preparations in a bit… Can I– Can I have a few minutes with him?”

“Sure!” Franky sat the book down and patted his shoulder gently as he passed. “I could do with some more attractive company anyway. He's not really my type.”

Sanji didn't miss the wink Franky gave Robin as he exited to infirmary, or the way she brushed his wrist with her fingertips as he passed. 

Robin lingered for a few moments more, but departed after she'd given Sanji one last hug. 

And he was alone again , with Zoro. 

It felt good, in a way. 

Zoro was breathing deeply, evenly, and his face had a healthier color even if the dark crescents under his eyes remained. 

Sanji wanted to crawl onto the bed and wrap himself around him. Hold him close and know that everything that had happened was worth it because Zoro was alive. The others were right. This wouldn't stop him. Wouldn't stop them. 

But, Sanji couldn't let himself do it. He couldn't break the stillness of the room or potentially disturb Zoro's rest. 

Instead he sat close, let himself really look for the first time without the illusion of distance in his mind. Let himself appreciate the little things he'd always scolded himself for noticing. 

He'd always secretly liked moss, how it always found a foothold in every setting. Resilient and screaming of life in inhospitable places. 

It was funny that he'd originally chosen the nickname to be a jab, but it had become an endearment as time went on. 

He thought of tardigrades again. Wondered hysterically if Zoro had them living in his hair and started giggling.

And then there he was. 

Gray eyes cracked open to slits and locked on him. 

Sanji couldn't stop giggling, a little madly, relief washing over him as Zoro's eyes scanned the room and eventually came back to him, brows tilted questioningly. 

Sanji took a shuddering breath and wiped unexpected tears from his eyes. “Hi.”

Zoro swallowed with visible difficulty and his lips shaped words, their sound just a breath. “They found us?”

Sanji was shaking, scooted his chair a little closer. “Yeah.”

“How– how long’ve I been out?”

Sanji’s mouth twitched. “Two years. Luffy's the pirate King now, and Usopp's the president of the world.”

Zoro frowned. “Not funny.”

“They found us six days ago. You've been unconscious about ten days total, though you kind of woke up a few days ago long enough to have an argument.”

Zoro blinked at him. “‘don't remember that.”

Sanji hummed, reached forward and formed his left hand against the other's head, fingers absently petting his hair. “You're fever was damned near pyroclastic so I'm not surprised you can't remember the other day.”

“That bad?”

Sanji nodded. “That bad.”

He swallowed again and shifted his head in discomfort. “There's something in my throat–”

“Yeah, thats the feeding tube… The-uh– the medicine Chopper’s been giving you has some nasty side effects. Apparently everything tastes like raw sewage.”

“Feeding tube?”

“Yeah, you need calories, the tube bypasses the messed-up shit happening in your mouth and you don't throw up.”

His brows lifted and he turned his head into the pressure of Sanji's fingers. “Thats smart.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell.”

“So not far off from how you look. Good to know.”

He lifted his right shoulder, hand sliding under the blankets. “Am I naked?”

“Yeah.”

He grumbled bitterly. “Little shit wants to keep me here so bad he steals my pants?”

“You're in kidney failure, it was more that you've been unconscious for ten days and you had to piss somehow.”

“Shit, that sounds serious– what the hell is–” Zoro's fingers had found the tube taped to his thigh and followed it upward. His eyes widened. “Oh – oh, thats like– like in there.” 

Sanji giggled madly again. 

“Don't laugh at me!” His voice was just a distressed hiss. “There's a tube in there, what the fuck–”

“Stop messing with it.” Sanji shook his head and lifted the edge of the blanket. “It's there because you quite literally can't lift your head on your own, forget about making it all the way to the bathroom or the stern to take a piss.” He caught the swordsman’s wrist and pulled his hand out, made sure to trap it above the blankets to prevent any more fumbling. 

Zoro stared down at his fingers and the twin IV lines in his forearm, mortified and a little bit frightened. “How many freakin’ tubes did he stick in me?” He turned to Sanji suddenly with the cold gleam of terror in his eyes, voice reduced to a whisper. “He didn't put one in my ass did he? Please tell me he didn't put–”

“You haven't eaten anything in two weeks, the fact that you haven't shit yourself is something I thank God for daily.” Sanji took a slow deep breath and just stared for a moment, tears blurring in his vision. 

“We're moving?” Zoro squinted at the ceiling, body somehow aware of their swaying, lateral motion even without any landmarks or windows in view. 

“We left the island this morning.”

“Why’d we stay?”

Sanji scoffed. “Do you want the happy version orbthe truth?”

Zoro's lips compressed and he looked around the room again, not quite able to meet Sanji's eyes. “What happened?”

Sanji winced, even thinking about the conversation he'd had with Luffy two nights ago was painful. “I don't say this lightly, but Luffy said he'd picked out a spot to bury you, because you didn't want to be buried at sea.”

Zoro's eyes closed his breath shaking a little as it eased from him. “He told you about that?”

“He said you were kind of scared of open water.”

“I’m not scared of it– I just don't like it… Same with heights.” He finally made himself look at the cook again. “Why are you crying?”

He rubbed his eyes. “It's just so good to hear your voice again. You have no idea.”

“Did you miss me or something?” He lifted a brow, smirked, forcing himself to back to their usual teasing banter to hide his discomfort. 

Sanji couldn't find it in him to return to the familiar snarking and squabbling. The relieving ache of his admission to Robin still too fresh. “Yeah.”

Zoro stared, silent, lips parted in shock. Something in his chest caught and he noticed the way the cook's hand lingered in his hair, the longing and shame in his eyes.

Sanji stared back, wasn't sure if the expression on the swordsman’s face was fear, heartbreak, or physical distress. Just that his eyes looked round and uncertain and he didn't like it. Zoro wasn't supposed to be uncertain, heartbroken, or afraid of anything. 

Afraid of him…  

“I'll– I'll go get Chopper. Try not to fall back to sleep while I'm gone. We only have four days to get you cleaned up and presentable for the doctors on Onion Billy, and with the rate you're moving it'll take that long at least.” 

Sanji pushed quickly to his feet and moved towards the door, he didn't stop, even when he heard that voice call his name softly just before his hand touched the doorknob. He couldn't do it. Couldn't stand the look on Zoro's face a second longer. 

So he left. 

*-*-*

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Chapter Text

*-*-*

Missing time isn't something Zoro likes. He's experienced it before, more than once, but this time is different. He knows it's different from how his body feels. He aches all over, worse than he ever has following any other injury. His muscles burn when he lifts his hand or tries to lift his head. His left shoulder HURTS. the muscles in his chest, neck, and back feel weirdly contracted and sore. 

Chopper said it was to be expected. They were used to holding the weight of his arm and now it was gone. 

“You should expect some atrophy, until you've healed enough to begin physical therapy. Just move it as much as is comfortable and let me know if you feel any unusual pains or anything.”

Zoro didn't know what to consider 'unusual', so he kept his mouth shut. Laid there and stared at the ceiling, tried to force himself through conversations with the others as they made a march through. Tears and smiles and relief on all their faces. It felt weird. Like he was experiencing it all through a mirror. Not quite real beyond the two major absences. 

Luffy took it upon himself to tackle the list of chores he'd been ignoring since the storm and didn't have the time to spare even a minute to sit there and stare at Zoro with those bottomless eyes of his. 

Sanji just refused to come in. 

Zoro didn't know which was worse. His captain too busy to make sure he was OK, or the damned cook ignoring him. 

Nami made it obvious that she was angry with both of them. Usopp as well. The sound of hushed arguing from the galley and upper-deck obvious in the unusual quiet of the ship. 

It made Zoro feel exposed and… Burdensome. 

But it didn't change anything. 

So, Zoro stared at the ceiling, tried not to curse in frustration when Chopper propped him up against pillows and began asking questions, or explaining things about Zoro's body that made him blush. 

Apparently kidney failure was very dangerous, and he was in for a long, and possibly complicated recovery. 

“I don't have the lab equipment here to perform the necessary tests to precisely rate overall function, but your numbers are improving. So that means your kidneys are still working, I would just rather have a second opinion on how well, and how quickly you'll recover.” Chopper’s little face was stern. “You might have to undergo dialysis. I'm hopeful that you won't, but I'd rather be safe than potentially cause more damage.”

Zoro's voice was barely a hiss. “What's dialysis?”

“Haemodialysis is a process of filtering water and excess minerals, or toxins from the blood. It's time consuming, but sometimes necessary to allow damaged kidneys time and relief to regenerate, or to extend a person's life if their kidneys can't function well enough to sustain them.”

The words echoed in his head and he heard Sanji's voice again saying that Luffy had picked a spot to bury him. 

He felt it like a weight hanging over his head. The fact that this time, he hadn't been lucky. He had never been that close to death before. Even the fight with Mihawk had been calculated. The wound deep enough to leave a permanent ghastly mark, enough to threaten his life, but with care and patience, perfectly survivable. 

This… This might not be. 

This might be the end of the journey for him, and the reality of it knocked the words out of his mouth. 

Something tightened in his throat and numbness settled into his chest. 

Could they tell? 

Is that why Luffy wouldn't come in? Is that why Sanji had fled? Was it so obvious that they couldn't bear to even look at him now? 

The world seemed darker around him. Quiet but the sound of the waves on the hull or the occasional thread of music from Brook’s musings. 

Chopper kept talking every time he came in, explained the feeding tube and how it worked, the catheter and the medicine in his IVs. 

Zoro nodded, grunted in the affirmative where it was needed, but he was miles away in his head. Standing in the stamped down grass, watching as if from outside himself as Sanji half carried him, bloody and pale, to their shelter. Leaving him there staring down at the bundle of his ruined shirt. 

It didn't hit him immediately. It seemed to creep up on him like a predator, slow and deadly before the final precision blow. 

He couldn't get the image in his head to come into focus. Knew what he'd seen, what he'd felt. That the blood on the dirt and grass looked black. But, the rest wouldn't resolve into clarity beyond the stained fabric of his shirt and smears of color. If he could just SEE it maybe things would be okay. Maybe he could understand it if he analyzed it from every angle… BuBut the memory wouldn't fully return no matter how he struggled with it, no matter how his heart thudded in growing terror. 

He ground his teeth and turned suddenly to Chopper, shaking. His voice was a choked whisper. “Why’d he cut it open after?”

Chopper froze, eyes wide and locked on the vial of antibiotic in his hand. “What?”

Zoro didn't recognize his own voice. Thin and strained as if he'd been screaming. “He cut my– the wrist.”

Chopper’s face fell, sadness washing over him. “You saw it?”

He whimpered. “Why’d he do that? It was already gone, why cut it up? I don't– I don't understand why he'd do that.” 

Chopper moved slowly, sat down the vial and moved to the bed, hopped up at Zoro's hip and pressed a hoof to the swordsman’s knee. “When–” his little voice shook. “When a limb is amputated, the remaining bone is often open. It will continue to bleed and will be more likely to grow painful bone spurs or spikes if it isn't capped, or closed in a way. The metacarpals– the bones in the wrist joint, are cartilaginous, they're very good at creating a softer end to the bone stump, so when a prosthetic is worn it doesn't hurt or irritate as much… Sanji took one and saved it in the incision, so when I revised I could properly cap the bone.”

“So… so he didn't do it because he was angry or something?”

Chopper shook his head. “No. He did it to make recovery easier for you.”

Zoro nodded, even though there were more questions burning in his mind and throat, he couldn't speak anymore. The words just wouldn't come out. 

Chopper sat there for a long time, starting at Zoro with a pained expression on his furry little face. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Zoro shook his head, the sound of his hair scraping the pillow almost deafening in his ears, rasping similarly to a knife on bone. 

His mouth opened, though he wasn't sure what he was trying to say. Maybe it was a scream, but nothing came out. A soft crackling and strained air, but nothing like words. 

He worked his tongue at the backs of his teeth but it didn't help. Just the vaguely metallic almost rotten taste he'd been aware of since waking. 

Chopper sighed audibly and hopped to his feet, then went about finishing the measurement of antibiotics. “Holding it in won't help. You need to talk about it, even if you think its dumb or silly, we want to help, okay?”

He nodded, but that tightness in his throat didn't abate. 

The rest of the evening moved at a crawl, everything pressing in on him like a burial. Each passing moment felt heavier, each gentle toss of the ship or sound of a wave crashing against the hull became less distinct. 

He barely reacted when Usopp and Nami came in to help Chopper move him so the bed sheets could be changed. 

Sitting upright was a harrowing task. He felt dizzy and seasick and looking down at his abdomen and legs was alien. 

It didn't look like the body he remembered. There was a strange dry itchiness in all his creases, like skin recovering from a sunburn. 

Nami made a low gagging noise and said he needed a bath. 

Zoro stared at his legs and wondered if they would ever be able to hold his weight again. Just sitting there wrapped in a sheet left him dizzy and shaking. He didn't even have much energy to argue when Chopper sent Usopp to fetch a basin of hot water and soap. 

“I can do it myself!” It came out like a choked whisper. 

Nami aimed a finger at his nose. “If you fall over and break something I'm charging you triple, understand!”

But she didn't make any comments about what she would charge for her services. Didn't shriek and feign outrage at the prospect of having to see his ‘Nasty man body’ naked. Didn't even object when Usopp returned. 

Chopper did. Said he was the doctor, it should be his job! 

Usopp just nudged him aside. “You've got enough to worry about. Let us do this. Besides! This is nothing new for me! I helped my mom while she was sick, so I know what I'm doing.” He saluted Chopper and gave Zoro a wink. “Nurse Usopp ready for duty!”

Zoro, at the moment, couldn't tell if the sniper was lying or not.

It wasn't completely unexpected. Zoro had scrubbed backs during baths all the time, had let himself be scrubbed on multiple occasions. But this was different. It wasn't usual, didn't feel right. He tried to help where he could but there was only so much he could reach, or manage without dark spots dancing in his vision. The firm but gentle touch of Nami's hands on his face while Usopp scoured his legs was at once heavenly and absolute torture. 

“Do you want a shave? You're kind of growing your own ecosystem here!” Nami scratched soap through the hair on his face, her expression serious. 

“No.” His vision swam. “Just leave it.”

“You sure?” Usopp lifted a brow questioningly. “I can give you a hand with–”

“I said no!” His throat clamped shut and the words died with a cough. 

He tried to cover his mouth but when he moved there was just a hot spike of pain in his shoulder and chest and he remembered it all over again. He didn't have a hand there anymore. Didn't have an arm there.

That hazy image seared into the backs of his eyes blinded him. Enraging and so horrifying because he just COULDN'T make it focus. Couldn't think of anything else but what he'd seen, what he'd felt, the unbearable fear that it was over. It was all OVER. And nothing would be the same. 

“Okay! Okay, sorry!” Nami had her hands up defensively. Usopp was standing a few feet away with a nervous look in his eye. Lip between his teeth, fingers twisting together. Quiet. 

Usopp wasn't usually quiet. He didn't shrink in on himself like that unless he was hurt, or really, truly scared–

Zoro wondered what had happened. Had he lashed out? Why was Usopp looking at him like that? Why was Nami looking at him like that? 

Zoro's throat ached, his chest numb. He bowed his head and stared at the fist his right hand had become. How he shook, how his insides felt cold and heavy and unsettled like there was something awful swimming in his belly. 

The rest of the experience was silent. Clinical. Horrible. 

Zoro let himself disappear into his head to escape it. Somewhere quiet and far away from his body. Far away from indecision, dread, and the growing pit in his chest. 

Nami went away for a few minutes and came back with reddened eyes and one of Zoro's buttonups. Helped him slot his arm through the sleeve like she was dressing a corpse. 

It hung from his shoulders, loose and uncomfortable, pinching against his bandages. 

Boxers. Blue and gray stripes he was positive he'd never seen before, barely tight enough to stay on his hips. 

He couldn't stand. Even with Chopper in heavy point on his left, gripping his waist and Usopp on his right tucked under his arm like a crutch. 

His legs dragged as if caught in quicksand. His muscles SCREAMED. Sweat on his face and in his eyes. 

Nothing felt right. Nothing WAS right. 

He closed his eyes as soon as his head touched the pillow. Fought for breath and silence and stillness. Fingers like claws in the sheet. 

Usopp murmured something but it was too indistinct. Hidden away behind bonfire smoke in his head. 

Eventually he cracked an eye open, peered out praying not to be noticed. Found Usopp sitting by the bed looking somehow older. Tired and weary beyond his years. Nami was at his side, leaned into his shoulder, dozing or fighting back a stupor, Zoro couldn't tell which. It hurt either way. The pitiful looks they gave him. Sorrowful and damning in their kindness. 

“This was a mistake.” Usopp whispered into her hair. “We should have just left him alone. Given him time.”

“I thought if he was clean he would feel better.” She sniffled. 

“I know, I'm not blaming you… I just think–” He hesitated, like the words wouldn't come. “I think we should have waited, let him breathe before we kind of– kind of jumped on him, yanno? I mean, he just woke up.”

“I just wanted him to feel better.”

“A bath and some clean clothes isn't going to fix this. I-I don't know if it can be fixed.”

Zoro turned his head away. Tried not to listen, but each word felt like a spike in his heart. 

“What are we gonna do, Usopp? How do we help?” Her voice shook. “What are, we gonna do without him?”

“I don't know.”

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Chapter Text

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Time crept by slowly. 

The infirmary was small, and Zoro found himself bored very quickly. He usually trained to stave it off, because if he was idle for too long his thoughts would circle. 

It wasn't anything new, he'd always had a bit of a depressive streak. He was just very good at hiding it beneath weights and kata. Routine made things easier. 

Not having a routine made Zoro moody, so he tried to find some kind of order in the uncertainty of his days. 

Chopper came in first, gave him a checkup and the day's first dose of medication. Maintenance of bandages and coaching through gentle movement to prevent as much atrophy as possible. 

Then someone would come in to relieve the doctor and Zoro was subjected to their company while Chopper ate and his milkshake was- he didn't think devoured was a good word but ‘tube feeds’ sounded a little weird and clinical to him and he didn't like it. 

Mostly he pretended it wasn't happening, but having something warm in his stomach did help with the body aches for a while. 

After that Chopper came back, made sure things were in order and Zoro took a nap, more out of necessity than laziness. He felt exhausted just sitting propped up against pillows trying to convince himself not to worry at the catheter. Though that was a struggle in and of itself. The idea of something being up in there just felt violating. 

If he couldn't nap, or once he woke, there was someone there with him, usually Nami or Robin Usopp and Franky seemed to prefer the night shift because they could sleep in the chair with their feet propped on the edge of the bed. 

Nami spent a lot of time reading notes in her journal or making notations on the little map sections she kept organized in a big sketchbook. Robin would read, sometimes if she felt he needed the enrichment she would even read aloud and Zoro got to zone out into the current fantasy she'd picked up. 

Something about a North Blue Dynastic heroine choosing love over obligation during a civil war of Imperial succession. 

Then lunch. Chopper would come back in and measure Outputs again, then frown. A little more light physically therapy, perhaps some time sitting in a chair beside the deck exit wrapped in blankets like a dumpling watching the sea past the ship's stern. 

Then more medicine and a nap. Then dinner, more of Robin's book or Nami's maps. Sometimes Brook would swing by and man the interrim while Nami checked the evening stars with her meticulous notes. 

Last visits, and the ship would start winding down for the night. Franky or Usopp would show up eventually with his last milkshake and snoring company until morning. 

Sometimes Usopp would tell stories of the days events until Zoro fell asleep or told him to shut up. Franky just picked up Robin's book and caught up to where she'd left. 

The it would start over again in the morning. 

Yes. It had only been one day, but Zoro needed routine. Needed the predictable because everything felt like it was circling the drain. So he embraced it without complaint. 

He decided early that chair time was watch duty. Something he could contribute without much energy expenditure. It didn't matter if nobody else knew he was on watch, he put himself there and it was important that he paid attention. He was in charge of monitoring the stern and ensuring nothing snuck up on them and nothing fell off the ship. He was keeping his crew safe even if he couldn't stand or piss on his own right now. 

Sometimes he could hear Luffy shouting about something he could see in the water. Fish or debris from a strange ship that had likely been destroyed in the same storm that changed everything for the Strawhats. So Zoro craned his neck and watched for it. Made sure to memorize what it was and what threat level it was to the ship. 

A dead whale stinking up the breeze and drawing the attention of unemployed seagulls and carrion birds. A few pieces of broken planking, a bit of seaweed, some pirate's inflatable girlfriend with a permanently shocked face and her legs up.

Luffy had cackled madly when they passed it and loudly asked Usopp if he wanted to practice his aim and put the poor thing out if it's misery. 

Usopp had been too disgusted to even try. 

Nami's voice was most prominent, calling out orders from midship to tack the sails or nudge the rudder. Making absolutely sure they were staying on track because rear navigating on the grand line was fucking DANGEROUS thank you, and if they didn't stay on her exact course they could miss Onion Billy completely and wind up lost at sea. 

Listening to it put Zoro's teeth in edge and in his mind he went through the rigging, tried to keep track of every order because he may be out of commission but he was still part of the crew. Kidney failure and muscle atrophy be damned, if his crew needed him he would crawl. 

But, they seemed to have things under control, so he kept watch at the stern and ignored the faint itching starting under his bandages. Tried not to convince himself that it was the gangrene returning to steal his life this time. 

Healing wounds itched. He knew that. Besides, Chopper didn't seem concerned when he changed the bandages, and nothing smelled funny– not that Zoro could really smell much of anything at the moment, whatever was happening in his mouth made sure of that. Everything kind of smelled bad at the moment. So, he couldn't be angry that Nami and Usopp had pounced on him two days before. He had to have smelled like death. There had even still been dried blood in the crease of his hip. 

And THAT brought it all back. The warm wet feeling of his life's blood dripping away. How everything had shifted so suddenly with a crack like a canon blast. How much it had HURT. 

Stop it. 

Watch. He could keep watch, he wasn't entirely useless. He could make sure nothing came up from behind. He could still function, even if all he did was sit there and try not to think about how lopsided he felt and that he still hadn't been able to look at it. Watch was easy, he could do it in his sleep, and for now that had to be enough. 

And then it happened. Not long after the damned blowup doll disappeared amid the waves, Zoro found himself dozing because the evening sun felt fantastic and he was pleasantly warm for the first time since the storm– 

Sanji appeared at the stern. 

He stood there looking out of place in a baggy floral shirt, one of Franky’s if Zoro wasn't mistaken, and a pair of pink swim trunks. Something Nami had got second hand on some island months ago because all Sanji owned was black wool suits and various button downs. So she found the idea of dressing him up like a living doll in anything and everything she could find in his size, absolutely hilarious. 

Sanji had never complained, even when the outfits looked absurd, but now he looked so thin and though they were healing, burned. Standing there barefoot and lost in baggy clothes. 

His hair was unkempt and he kept turning over a pack of cigarettes in his hands, face pinched in deep thought. 

Zoro stared at him the same way one may stare at an endangered animal spotted in the wild for the first time in eons. Wide eyes and jaw clenched, trying not to even breathe too loudly. 

Part of Zoro wanted to shout that cigarette smoke wasn't good for invalids so Sanji better get lost with that shit–

But Sanji didn't light up. He just stood there watching the pack twirl between his nimble fingers. 

He was shaking. Eventually lifted a hand and inspected his fingers, then curled them into a fist and tapped the railing once-twice three times with growing force. Again and again until each motion became a heavier punch and his knuckles turned red. 

It was wrong, but when Zoro opened his mouth no sound would come out. Like the sight had completely rendered him mute. 

Stop. Stop it! 

But the words weren't there. 

Sanji took a slow, measured breath and stared at his knuckles, the weird untidiness of his brows pulled down, lower lip pushed forward in an angry frown. 

Then those blue eyes flicked upward, peering through his messy fringe, like a predator through weeds and caught Zoro staring. 

They both flinched. A heartbeat. Two–

Sanji fled. His heels thudded sharply against the deck as he went. Shoulders hunched, gaze averted. 

Zoro stared at the empty place he'd left. The pristine section of railing that now held a psychic mark. That was where Sanji had put his fist. That was where he'd ground the knuckles of his precious hands like he'd wanted them to bruise and split and bleed. 

The vision wouldn't leave Zoro's mind. Sharing space with that foggy memory of his bloody shirt and the stained grass. 

He felt sick. Physically felt his skin crawl in revulsion and emotion welled in his throat like a scream. 

Zoro curled his hand into a fist under the blankets, felt his muscles aching and something low in his chest burned. 

He wanted this to be over. He wanted everything to be over. He wanted to fight, kick, bite, cut, rage. 

The impotence of the situation bred anger in his bones and he found himself desiring nothing more than to grab Sanji and pummel him with bare hands. Like the savage the cook thought he was. No decency, no honor, just a brutal, bestial fight because how dare that fucking blonde asshole do that to himself! How dare he abuse something so precious! How dare he insult his own dreams like that. 

Zoro knew those hands had sacrificed everything for him. Had saved him. Held his face and soothed his panic. They'd dipped into his veins and come out crimson and more beautiful still. And Sanji was trying to–

He was so angry it warped around into despair and his eyes blurred with tears. 

How dare he! 

Then Brook’s violin screeched into a jaunty folk tune, shattering any control Zoro maintained with a horrifically bright and happy sounding tune from the foredeck and Zoro had had enough. 

He writhed. Bucked violently against the blankets and tore his arm free, kicked and wriggled and wound up sliding bodily into the floor in a heap. Unable to get to his feet no matter how hard he clawed at the chair for balance. He tottered and rolled into the corner between Chopper’s desk and the water cooler, trapped. 

“Where are they? Where are my f-fucking swords!”

His body screamed at the sudden burst of motion after so long of stillness and half a heartbeat later Nami and Franky burst into the room.

Chopper appeared a second later already in heavy point, eyes wild in barely withheld panic. 

“Zoro, calm down!”

“Don't tell me to calm down!” He snarled and scratched at the tube in his nose, then groped for the one taped to his leg. “Get–get these fucking things out of me! I've had it! Where is he! I'm gonna beat the shit out of him!!”

“Zoro, stop it!” Nami grabbed his wrist, shoved hard against his chest and Zoro went, slammed into the wall with enough force the air was knocked from him. 

Holy shit. Holy shit this was bad if Nami could overpower him without effort. 

Oh god this was worse than he'd thought. Worse than anything he'd ever experienced!

Fear engulfed him. Like that cold shock of raging ocean water as he'd fallen overboard in the storm. Stunned and suddenly drowning in fear. Fear that he would never be able to overcome this. His body was wasted, all his strength and purpose stolen just like his arm. 

He saw the stowaway’s face behind his eyes. Or what should have been a face, but it was just a featureless swathe of skin beneath ratty hair and tattered clothes. His gun raised and aimed. The belch of fire, the impact of the bullet. The island, the pain and fear, the FEAR. 

What was going to happen now? What if Nami was right? What if he did have to leave because his body just couldn't take it! What would they do without him? What if he was finished and Luffy knew? What if the whole ordeal had been too much and not only was Luffy now without a swordsman, a fighter, but now Sanji was broken too? What if Zoro had been so weak he'd pulled the cook down with him? So scared he'd ruined more than just his own life. 

Zoro's face twisted, breath coming out in a sob, cheeks wet with tears as he struggled against Nami's grip on him. “Don't touch me! Just–just leave me alone! Leave me alone! I don't want this! I don't– please– I'm begging you. Don't leave me.”

Nami's face fell and she pulled him close, felt his fist shaking against her shoulder as he folded into her embrace, head under her chin.

And all the fight went out of him. Breath shaking in his throat with every weak shudder of his body. 

Chopper moved closer, shrinking, pushed up into Zoro's left side, wary of his bandages, whimpering helplessly. 

Zoro felt a firm hand settle on his back, rubbing circles. Franky’s voice rumbling that he needs to ‘let it out, man. Don't hold it in.’

Then there was the screech of furniture moving violently to the side and Zoro lifted his head in time to see Usopp wedge himself into the newly cleared space where Chopper’s desk had been. Leaning into Zoro's right side, head on his shoulder. “It's okay. We're not going anywhere. You're not alone. It's going to be okay, I promise!”

“Liar.” He choked. 

There was a noise. A blubbering wet sound of pure agony and Zoro looked up, startled. 

Luffy was standing in the doorway, both hands clamped between his teeth, shaking visibly. Eyes shut and running with tears, face red and blotchy. 

Nami turned to him, stunned. “Luffy?” 

And the younger boy slid into a crouch, hands coming free of his teeth to tangle in his hair. “I don't– I don't wanna make it worse! If I touch you I'll make it worse!” He stared, at his crew with sadness and jealousy mixed on his face. “If I get too close I'll grab you and I don't wanna make it worse!”

Nami sobbed, forced herself to speak. “You won't make it worse if you're gentle!”

Luffy's eyes snapped to Chopper’s and the instant the little reindeer wiped his eyes and nodded Luffy lunged forward, almost knocking Robin off her feet–

Franky caught her and they sidestepped out of the way, letting their captain scramble forward on hands and knees. 

Usopp tried to wriggle out of the way but Luffy just crawled on top of him pressed his face into Zoro's shoulder and seemed to melt, sniffling and sobbing, still too afraid to really touch. 

Zoro couldn't move, could barely breathe between all the bodies crushed so close. “I'm sorry–”

“Shut up.” Luffy's breath felt hot and wet on his shoulder. All thought and nuance gone. “You smell bad. And you scared me, and I don't want to hurt you when you're sick, so I'll let you get better. But you better get better or I'm gonna be pissed off.”

He couldn't promise anything and they all knew it. There was no way to know what was going to happen in the next few days, all they could do was hope. 

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Chapter Text

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Onion Billy's distinctive curved landscape came into view late the next afternoon. The layered domes of stone with eroded arches and caves that gave the island its onion like appearance. 

Robin had said it was the long dead remnants of a magma chamber, taken over by lush greenery and mineral hunters hungry for rainbow obsidian, diamonds and a number of other rare gemstones that the super rich loved. It had long since been mined to exhaustion for anything the world government would find interesting, and the citizens who remained did so for the rich volcanic earth and the relative protection of Onion Billy's unique geography. 

Nami nearly wept when she caught sight of the jagged curled peaks and cliffs, her shoulders sagged in relief and she stumbled heavily into the railing near Sunny’s helm. 

Usopp, perched at a window in the crow’s nest, called down excitedly: “You did it! Nami, you did it!”

Only hours now, Nami screamed in her head, only hours until they could get help! 

The preparations began immediately. Franky and Usopp disappearing into the hold to fashion a stretcher on which Zoro could be carried safely. 

Luffy insisted on helping and provided extra hands to aid in construction. 

Chopper and Robin sat in the galley writing down everything that had been done when, and with what frequency to help Zoro and Sanji. 

Brook sat near Zoro's bedside, but the excitement of the previous day had been a bit too much and Zoro slept most of the morning and afternoon. Silent and barely moving. 

Sanji tried to stay out of the way. Hid himself in the pantry and pretended to go over the unsettlingly short list of their supplies. He spent most of the time just staring at the empty bins and shelves and trying not to feel sick. Trying not to remember the sound of Zoro's voice as he'd cried into Nami's shoulder. 

Sanji didn't want to see him like that ever again. Didn't want to hear his voice choked off like that. Or the curses and threats made at his back–

“Where is he! I'm gonna beat the shit out of him!!”

He and Zoro fought. They cursed and threatened one another frequently. It was their normal. 

But they'd never meant it like that. Never wanted to actually hurt one another. 

All he'd been able to hear in Zoro's voice was rage, and it terrified him. 

There was a line they'd never crossed before, never held any actual malice toward the other, but Sanji wasn't so sure that was true anymore. And he couldn't find it in him to be angry at Zoro for it. He deserved the anger, he deserved the hatred. 

Sanji stared at the discolored scuffs on his knuckles and the way his fingers shook. He just had to be careful. Had to stay away from Zoro until he was healed, had to make amends for what he'd done in any way possible. And if that meant letting the swordsman beat the shit out of him he'd do it. As long as Zoro survived this, recovered, and wasn't forced to leave or be left, Sanji would deal with whatever was thrown at him. 

Punches, blades, cold unending hatred from the man he loved so deeply he had betrayed them both to save him. 

It was slightly irrational, he knew that. Everyone kept telling him that Zoro would be dead if he hadn't done what he'd done, but it didn't stop his chest from tightening. It didn't stop the sadness from stealing his breath. 

He loved Zoro, and he'd saved him, but at what cost? He didn't know how to fix this: How to repair what had been broken, or even withstand the jagged pieces that remained of their former relationship. 

Chopper found him, a curious knock at the pantry door and concern in his soft voice. “Sanji, are you okay? We're going to make Port soon and Nami wants you up on deck.”

Sanji dried his eyes and climbed unsteadily to his feet. “Coming.”

He put together one last quick meal, to give them all the strength they'd need to get the Sunny into port. 

Fried fish and chips with the last of their fruit. 

Sanji felt like it had been eons since he'd seen civilization. 

The long docks and assorted ships. The Ancient warehouses and old rusted mining equipment, covered in pirate graffiti. 

The gigantic arches of stone crisscrossing the island stone structures visible through the greenery. 

It felt weird. Unreal. 

Luffy scurried up the foremast with two towels he had hastily colored with paint desperate approximations of fisherman's signal flags. One denoting peaceful intentions and the other the need for immediate medical assistance. He attached them above their jolly Roger, then began waving his arms at the dock workers. 

Sanji shielded his eyes and watched curiously. He'd never seen a pirate vessel fly anything but their Roger or perhaps a yellow banner to warn of disease. The only reason he knew what the impromptu flags meant was because he'd been a curious kid and asked Zeff why all the non-pirate ships had so many flags. He wondered how Luffy knew, as he didn't seem the type to wonder about fisherman's code, but decided it was a question for later. 

Sanji moved slowly around, handing out food to his crewmates and eventually found himself sitting on the stairs watching the island creep closer. 

Logically he knew this was a good thing. They needed supplies, Zoro needed medical care that Chopper didn't have the equipment to provide. 

But seeing the port with so many bustling people and a few ships anchored in the bay, made Sanji anxious. It opened possibilities he couldn't foresee and he found himself turning eyes to the area of shade provided by the Sunny’s upper decks. 

The stretcher Usopp and Franky had constructed from one of the folding deck loungers was settled against the wall. Zoro was already lying on it, wrapped snugly in blankets. He looked dazed, blinking slowly and not exactly meeting anyone's eyes as they passed, or leaned down to check on him. 

He didn't look away when Sanji stared at him though. Gray and blue locked across the short distance. 

Someone had produced Zoro's swords, lying them across his body so he could feel their weight. Sanji almost expected him to demand they be strapped to his waist, but he seemed content to grip them like a lifeline instead. 

Sanji stared at him. Couldn't even pay attention to Nami's voice as she explained that Chopper and Franky would carry him immediately inland as soon as they'd dropped anchor. 

Vaguely Sanji heard mention of the hospital, and that Brook had volunteered to stay with the ship as long as they kept him appraised of the situation. 

“Sanji!” She nudged him, pulling his attention back to herself. “I need my snail back.”

He blinked slowly and nodded, “She's in the galley… Uhm– the apple crate by the starboard window. Though she's probably napping in her hammock right now–”

Nami nodded listening as he rambled about not disturbing the snail while she napped, and that it was almost time for her dinner. He was wringing his hands nervously, squeezing his fingers so tightly together his nailbeds went white. “Hey.” She crouched on the stair below him, and caught his hands between her own. Gently pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. “It's going to be okay.”

Sanji wasn't entirely sure he believed her. 

“When we land Chopper wants you to get checked out too, xrays so he can get a better idea of how bad your ribs are.”

Another nod, but he couldn't exactly move, rooted to the spot.

Nami sighed, “You need to eat, you know. Where's yours?”

“I'm… I’m not really hungry right now. Too nervous.” He withdrew and scratched his knuckles. Hands folding together between his knees. 

Nami didn't like it. Wanted to knock some sense into him, or threaten and make him do what he was told, but the distance in his gaze was too unsettling. She wasn't sure she could handle fighting that darkness back. Not now. Not yet. So, she cupped his cheek, worried at the untidy length of his facial hair, then went to get the snail. 

Things moved quickly, without Sanji's awareness. One moment he had moved to the lower railing, watching dock workers tie off the morning lines. The next he spotted Franky’s back as he and Chopper carried the stretcher uphill toward the hospital. 

He had to turn a complete circle, scanning the deck, before he realized Zoro and his makeshift stretcher were gone. Then it all hit him like a wave crashing. He hadn't been that far from Zoro in almost a month. It felt like years, and panic jagged through his middle. 

“Sanji!” 

He turned, lips pale and compressed to hold back a scream. 

Luffy caught his wrist, squeezed gently and forced eye contact. “Take a breath.”

His chest was tight, his ribs burned, his skin was wax, melting in the heat–

“Come on, like this.”

Inhale, exhale. 

It was easier with help. With his captain right there, a pillar of strength in a compact package. Even if Sanji knew Luffy was just as worried, just as afraid for Zoro, he kept his head. He held on while Sanji bowed into his shoulder and struggled to draw air. 

“It's gonna be okay. Whatever happens.” He pulled Sanji down and squeezed him, harder than necessary, but something in Sanji needed the ache of it. The constriction, because inside he felt like he was falling apart. 

*-*-*

People stared. 

Zoro wasn't exactly surprised, but that didn't mean he had to like it. 

Chopper had him wrapped up in four different layers of blankets, and Zoro wasn't happy about any of them. He could barely move, and the weight of wool and Nami's quilt pinned him down like a landslide. 

He cursed in his head at his own weakness, thrashed inside because it wasn't right. This wasn't RIGHT. But it didn't change anything. All he could do was keep watch, so that's what he did. He watched. 

He remembered that Onion Billy was perpetually seesawing between summer and autumn, the climate stuck in that period of trees with colorful tips to green branches, dry crispy grass, and the occasional wet foggy cool day. The four days they'd stayed here Before had been a mix of gentle warmth and brisk foggy mornings. 

It was nice. Onion Billy was nice in general. The town was pleasantly familiar in the same way all pastoral towns were familiar. The only thing that really set it apart from any other island they'd visited were the towering arches of stone some eight or nine hundred feet over their heads. Crisscrossing like bridges back and forth, and the occasional colorful hot air balloon bobbing around in between. 

They'd spent four days exploring, refilling the pantries, bartering, and in Zoro's case, drinking and getting into good natured bar fights with the locals. 

Nothing serious, just friendly kinds of things. Boxing and sparring, then laughing and drinking even more. Now, none of the faces looked familiar, or happy. They stared at him like someone would stare at a wounded animal, secretly hoping they're put out of their misery quickly. 

He tried not to stare back at them, but there wasn't much else to do. The jostling of Franky and Chopper’s jogging was making him sick to his stomach, and every step jolted through his shoulder and chest like a knife. 

By the time they'd made it to the hospital Zoro was shivering and sweaty from fighting down the nausea. He wanted everything to stop moving so he could just sleep for a while. It felt like, if he could only fall asleep at just the right angle, he might be okay when he woke. He might be able to do this if everyone would just leave him alone long enough that he could get comfortable. 

But he soon came to understand that comfort wasn't possible. Not yet, not here with three different strange doctors and their cold gloved hands poking and prodding and sticking him with more and more needles. 

First they drew blood. Seven vials at least, then they sat him up and unwound the bandages and he found a fascinating crack in the plaster above the door to watch while they pressed and picked and poked. 

Chopper’s sweet little voice sounded terribly far away, and strange fingers prodded at all the aching numb areas around the stitches. 

Cold fingers pushed roughly into his armpit and chest. “His lymph nodes are enlarged here.”

“Yes, but they've gone down considerably and there isn't any tenderness.”

“Is this bruising from a tourniquet?”

“Yes. He usually heals quickly, so the fact it hasn't faded is concerning.”

“How is his input and output?”

“Not good. He's definitely retaining fluid, and his urine is still discolored. I don't have the most modern equipment– I'm not complaining, Franky, we haven't really needed it until now. But, just from the rudimentary tests I've been able to perform, it's obvious to me that his renal system is struggling.”

The older of the three strange doctors nodded. 

Zoro didn't like being talked about like this. Or how everyone was starting, and making notes, and talking about how poorly he was recovering. 

“I feel fine.” His voice was strained, barely audible.

“You don't have to put on a face for us, bro.” Franky said, inching his chair closer and offering a distraction from the softly chattering doctors. “I was in your shoes once, trust me. You're not okay, and that's okay.”

Zoro rubbed at the butt of Wado’s sheathe where it lay on the bed at his side, worried that the paint and enamel was looking warped and damaged. His fingers looked thin, his wrist a little bony, and his arms… Arm. He barely recognized his right arm as his. Skin dappled with dry patches, no longer taut over muscles. His mind spiraled thinking of all the training he'd have to do to get back to normal. All the katas, the weights– No. No, he'd have to change everything. His normal workouts were for a man with two arms. He'd have to change everything. 

Franky patted his knee gently, sensing the whirlpool of the swordsman’s thoughts. “This place is safe, we're all here to help. It's okay to let yourself stand down so you can heal. Pushing yourself before your body is ready is just dangerous. We need you at your best, and to get back to it you need to let yourself heal. You take care of your swords, give yourself the same grace, you're worth it.”

Zoro wasn't sure he believed that. Not now. 

The lady doctor stepped forward again and caught Zoro's chin, peered into his eyes with a pen light. “He's a little jaundice, but I've definitely seen sailors with worse. Still, I think Doctor Yansen’s right, his numbers are improving, so I'm confident he'll regain functionality, but how much remains to be seen. Haemodialysis is only going to help the situation. If anything, it will relieve some of the stress on his kidneys and give them time to regenerate.”

Zoro's eyes shot to Chopper where he'd perched on the edge of Dr. Yensen’s desk and was scanning the copy of Zoro's chart he'd brought with them. There was sadness in that furry little face. 

“Then we can leave, right? We do the dialysis thing, then we can leave?” His ears were ringing and that weightless feeling was back, just like it had been lying in the grass beside that bonfire. 

“It's not that simple.” Chopper started. “Dialysis isn't a one-and-done procedure… It's likely you'd have to undergo treatment every few days for a certain period of time.”

“What, like a week? Two weeks?”

“Depending on how quickly your kidneys recover, and how much function returns, it could be three– maybe six months?” The lady doctor said, cupping his jaws to palate the lymph nodes of his neck. “This isn't something you want to rush. It's important to take care of yourself properly while you recover. The facilities here are more than capable of providing everything you need, no matter how long it takes. I'm sure your captain will understand.”

The doctor stepped away again and Zoro's chin dropped to his chest. The room around him faded out and all he could hear was his heartbeat, too fast, off beat. 

The murmur of voices around him was distant, unintelligible. Even Franky putting a hand on his knee and trying to be reassuring didn't help. 

I'm sure your captain will understand.

So, that was it then. It was over. 

He took a shuddering breath and let it out.

*-*-*

*-*-*

*-*-*